


i'd start a revolution.

by babblekween



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birds of Prey - freeform, Canon Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Endgame Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Established Tommy Merlyn/Laurel Lance, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Non-Chronological, The Hood wasn't Starling's first vigilante, The Undertaking happens before Oliver Queen returns to Starling City, Which means Sara comes home sooner, non-canon relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 11:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 41,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babblekween/pseuds/babblekween
Summary: [Birds of Prey AU]"The Undertaking happens before Oliver Queen ever returns to Starling City."Snapshots from the lives of Sara, Helena, and Felicity: Star City's vigilantes. It's not easy being a bird of prey. What with the super-secret identities, the crime-fighting, the bruises in really embarrassing places, not to mention lovers, both old and new.





	1. "Oliver Queen is alive." (Oct. 10, 2012)

**Author's Note:**

> A while back I wrote a collection of one-shots _[[every you, every me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10716033?view_full_work=true)] _ based around the lives that Felicity Smoak could have had, but didn't. Among these one-shots was  _[Bird of Prey AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10716033/chapters/23942826#main) _ featuring Sara, Felicity, and Helena where the Undertaking happened before Oliver ever returned to Starling City. The idea wouldn't leave me alone, so here is a collection of snapshots dedicated to that 'verse. Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[ H E L E N A ]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg.html) [[ F E L I C I T Y ]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228752452_zpsbngek1d0.jpg.html) [[ S A R A ]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg.html)

_“I'm coming up on 52nd street, heading east,”_[Helena](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg.html) says, her motorcycle roaring in the background.

“Copy that,” [Felicity](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228752452_zpsbngek1d0.jpg.html) says, her cornflower blue eyes darting between her three monitors while she clicks keys on her keyboard, using the traffic cameras to follow Helena through Star City. Her brows furrow. “Or is it Roger? I never know the difference.” Felicity’s musings end when their villain takes a right turn, right towards where Sara is waiting for him. “Canary, our target’s coming up on your location.”

 _“Roger,_ ” [Sara](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg.html) answers, smile obvious, _“I got him.”_

“Oh, so it _is_ Roger. He’s heading up Warner, heading North.”

 _“I'm on my way_ ,” Helena says, and then continues talking because there's always chatter on their lines, much to Sara's frustration. _“Also, there better be pizza left when we get back to Watchtower, Oracle. You know, Canary and I are the ones that do all the night sweeps, we’re the ones that do all the fieldwork—"_

“Hey,” Felicity squawks, outraged, “I want it on record that I _offer_ to do some of the fieldwork.”

 _“And we’re the ones with the bruises in really embarrassing places,”_ Helena continues,  _“Would it kill you to save me some pie?”_

 _“What is this obsession with food,”_ Sara asks, baffled, then Helena growls,  _“You try fighting the forces of evil when your blood sugar’s low.”_

Felicity chokes out an amused, delighted laugh and shakes her head, and then she places an order for a large mushroom and pepperoni pizza from Mario’s. “Pizza will be here by the time you come home,” She promises over the indignant cry of a disgruntled criminal, figuring the brunette would much rather a freshly made, still-hot pie instead of the leftover scraps from lunch yesterday (or was it the day before? Or the day before that?) when Sin paid a visit to Smoak Tech. “Pretty sure we have some tequila left, too,” Felicity adds, “We can eat pizza and get drunk on cheap margaritas.”

 _“You've got yourself a deal, Geek-Girl,”_ Helena says, then, _“He’s headed into the warehouse, Canary. I’m right behind you.”_ Chaos erupts on the other end of the comms as Helena and Sara eliminate the goon-squad that stands between them and this week’s bad guy. Some gunfire, a couple grunts and indignant cries later, and Helena’s speaking again. _“We got him, Oracle,”_ Helena says,  _“We’re coming home.”_

“Roger that, Huntress,” Felicity smiles before she mutes her comms, and then she turns on Channel 52 News Report and starts her system diagnostics for the sophisticated computer setup she designed for Watchtower, their code name for the clock tower.

 _"Star City is dying,"_ Susan Williams announces, and Felicity's mouth curls into a sneer because she's never liked the woman or her articles, and her hatred has only doubled ever since Susan Williams declared that Felicity's team was a _causality_ when it came to crime in Star City. _"I think the fact that we even_ have _vigilantes running rampant in our city indicates just how much our city has decayed in recent years. We shouldn't have to go outside the law to find justice."_

 _"With all due respect, Ms. Williams, I have to disagree. These so-called 'Birds of Prey' just took down another one of Star City's most wanted,"_ Bethany Snow argues with Susan, and it has become clear over the past couple of months that she is one of their biggest supports, and in return, Felicity has  _occasionally_ leaked her information.  _"In the last five months alone, the city's crime rate has plummeted_ _—"_

"You're welcome," Felicity snarks, kicking off her pumps before tucking her feet in under her.

 _"Even our unemployment rate has significantly decreased,"_ She continues.  _"Now that Bertinelli Construction has started to build affordable low-income housing in the East Glades, the city has finally started to rebuild after the devastating earthquake of 2011, with more and more investors coming forward every day. Star City is thriving, thanks in no small part to the Birds of Prey, as well as Ray Palmer's rebranding project—"_

Felicity rolls her eyes at the mention of Ray Palmer— he’s some genius billionaire with the dashing good looks of a Disney prince —and switches to Channel 7 because she is still angry that he tried to buy out her company, the software firm she worked so, so hard to build from the ground up after she was terminated from Queen Consolidated (but that’s another story). The next time he has the nerve to show his face at Smoak Tech, Felicity will do more than hack his electronics, ensuring the only noise they make is porcupine flatulence. She will reign down digital hell on his entire life.

“ _Oliver Queen is_ alive.”

Felicity startles and her attention returns to Channel 7 News where the news anchor is speaking to the camera, eyes wide. _“The Star city resident was found by fishermen in the North China Sea five days ago, five years after he was declared missing and presumed dead following the accident at sea which claimed the Queen’s Gambit…”_ He announces, and Felicity stares, wide-eyed, unable to believe her ears. _“Queen is the son of Starling City billionaire Robert Queen, who was also on board but now officially confirmed as deceased…”_

"Holy Frak." Felicity murmurs, blinking rapidly.

They'll need something stronger than margaritas.


	2. "Nice mask. Why'd you help me?" (Oct. 12, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[ L A U R E L ]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729760_zps76ajqtuv.jpg) [[ S A R A ]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg.html) [ [ H E L E N A ]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg.html)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

“Adam Hunt _deserves_ to be in jail, and he’s about to learn that I’m the justice—"

“He can’t run from,” Adam Donner finishes, lips pursed. “Your favorite jingle.”

Oliver looks over, taking his attention off the pinboard covered in information about Adam Hunt, a name that he recognizes from the list of names his father gave to him. He turns to face Laurel, who slows down when she spots him.

Unlike himself, Laurel looks mostly the same. A little more refined. Her face a little thinner. Her hair is a little shorter, her brunette waves replaced with blonde, and there are lines around her mouth and eyes where there were none before. But she’s still _Laurel._

“Hello, Laurel,” He says, his tone earnest.

Laurel stares at him, her eyes a little wide, but there’s acceptance there too. She knew this was coming. “Ollie,” She says, the old nickname tumbling from her mouth without permission, but then she’s clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders. “What… What are you doing here, Oliver?”

 _Oliver_ , not _Ollie_.

His heart cracks, an open fault line.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Oliver says simply.

Laurel casts her gaze around the busy office and scowls, lifting her chin a little higher. “Did you corner me at work because you know how much I hate a public scene?” She turns to face him, her expression dark. “We’re not doing this _here_ ,” She insists, reaching for her pale blue blazer. “Adam, I’m stepping outside for a moment. I won’t be long.”

“Of course,” Adam nods, eyeing Oliver. “I’ll let Spencer know if she asks.”

Her pumps click-clack against the floor as she brushes past him, and Oliver follows silently behind Laurel as she makes her way outside away from prying eyes.

Laurel enjoys the work she does at the District Attorney’s Office, she does, but there are days she still misses working at CNRI. Working at the small legal aid office alongside Joanna, her best friend since that first caffeine-fueled study group at law school, felt like _home_. It felt like she was making a difference; making the city a safer place.

 _"Dinah Laurel Lance,"_ her loved ones always tease her, _"Always trying to save the world."_

“ADA Dinah Laurel Lance. You went to law school,” Oliver notes, pride in his voice, “You said you would.”

Laurel’s jaw ticks as she grinds her teeth. “Five years and you want to talk about _law school?_ ”

Oliver’s gaze falls briefly. “No,” He says honestly, shaking his head. “Not really.”

Laurel slows to a stop just outside the building. “Why are you here, Oliver?” She asks, folding her arms over her chest, her expression stony as she turns to face Oliver. She has forgiven Sara, she’s had the _time_ to forgive Sara, but she hasn’t quite been able to forgive Oliver.

“To apologize,” Oliver murmurs, turning to face Laurel, and it’s almost _painful_ to look at her in the moment. He swallows thickly and meets her eyes. “It was _my_ fault. I wanted to ask you not to blame her.”

“For what? Falling under your spell?” Laurel asks because that’s exactly what had happened. Like something out of those horrible teen drama shows she used to watch in high school, two sisters had fallen for the same boy. “How could I possibly blame her for doing the same things that I did?”

“I never meant—”

Bright green eyes brim with tears. “ _Don’t_ …” Laurel warns, her voice shaking with the intensity of her anger, boiling over now that the focus of her ire stands before her. “Don’t stand there and say you never meant to break my heart. That’s _exactly_ what you wanted, Ollie. You… You didn’t want to move in together so, instead of _talking about it_ , instead of _telling_ me that we were moving too fast or wanted different things or _whatever_ the issue was, you decided to whisk my sister away on your father’s yacht for some _fun_.” She laughs abruptly, and the bitter sound is so different from the musical laugh he remembers from their youth. “ _My sister_ , Ollie.”

Oliver stands silently, letting her get it all out because he’s learned that when you get bit by a snake, you have to suck all the poison out. That’s what he’s doing now, sucking all the poison out of his life.

“How could you cheat on me with my _sister_?” She shakes her head, rubbing a hand over her trembling mouth. “I couldn’t be angry because you were dead, I couldn’t grieve because I _was_ so angry, that’s what happens when your _boyfriend_ dies while screwing _your sister_.”

“Laurel,” Oliver says after a long silence between them, a silence during which a tear finally escapes down her cheek, one she swipes away quickly. “I know that it’s too late to say this, but I _am_ sorry.”

Laurel takes in a deep breath before looking up at him again, “I’m sorry too.” Letting out a shaky breath, she turns, making her way back inside the building, but not without delivering a parting blow. “I’d hoped you’d rot in hell a whole lot longer than five years.”

Oliver stands there for a long minute, watching her walk away until she’s out of view, and then he nods. Just three years ago that reaction would have gutted him, but he’s not the same man he used to be, and the ‘Ollie’ she knew is five years outdated.

He’s always known the chances of Laurel forgiving him for Sara were slim to none, but still, there’s a tiny spark of hope that someday Laurel will see he’s not the same asshole playboy he once was.

He walks down the sidewalk toward where Tommy is waiting, leaning back against a wrought-iron fence, expression no longer pinched like it had been when Oliver voiced his desire to see Laurel. “So,” Tommy says brightly, a hint of his old smug smirk tugging at his mouth, “Did that blow up in your face as much as I said it would?”

“Well, she didn’t kill me, so not _quite_ like you thought it would.”

Tommy’s mouth curves into a brilliant smile. “The day’s still young, my friend. Plenty of time for Laurel to come to her senses.” Tommy jokes, pushing off the fence before he leads Oliver to the empty alleyway where he’d parked his flashy sportscar. “Okay. We got that out of the way,” He continues, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket to ward off the morning chill, “Now we’re ready to make up for lost time. So, what will it be? Steaks at the Palm? Drinks at The Station? If you’re not _too_ sick of fish, I suggest we go find some leggy models and eat sushi off them. What do you say—?”

Before Oliver can answer, a van suddenly comes barreling towards them, black and nondescript.

“What the hell?” Tommy exclaims, turning to face the van, brows furrowed in confusion.

From the opposite direction, two masked attackers appear, both raising their dart guns. The first aims at Tommy, who falls to the ground, knocked out, while the other raises his own gun towards Oliver.

A door opens to the left, a man exiting, calling out, “Hey!” in surprise.

A spray of semi-automatic fire shoots him down where he stood.

Oliver falls back against the back of Tommy’s car and falls to his knees, struggling to keep his eyes open as they’re surrounded, his vision flickering as he stares up at the red, ghoulish mask that peers down at him. He’s faintly aware of Tommy, mere feet away, being tied up.

As he falls unconscious, Oliver dreams of the Queen’s Gambit, of Sara, of his father and the lifeboat he’d pulled him into, apologizing for not being the man Oliver thought he was before putting a gun to his head. _  
_

_“You can survive this. Make it home, make it better, right my wrongs; but you got to live through this first… You hear me, son? Survive.”_

His father’s words echo in his ears as he's forced back to consciousness when the bag is ripped from his head, and then he’s once again faced with the ghoulish masked men that had taken him and Tommy. “Mr. Queen,” The ringleader calls, demanding attention, holding a taser that sparks twice, “ _Mr. Queen!_ ”

Oliver shakes his head to rid himself of the cobwebs that linger in his mind, and then he takes stock of himself and his surroundings. He's sitting on a wooden chair, his arms zip-tied behind him, in the middle of what appears to be an abandoned warehouse. It's dark and damp but beams of sunlight flit through the boarded-up windows, highlighting where Tommy is laid out on a wooden pallet, unmoving. 

“Did your father survive that accident?”

Eyesight still a little hazy, Oliver looks from the ringleader to another masked man, this one unarmed. “Who…” He rasps, stretching his wrists apart, testing the strength of the zip ties. “Who are you?”

“ _I_ ask the questions, _you_ give the answers.” Irritated with Oliver’s lack of response, the ringleader looks behind him toward a third man, this one holding a Colt M4 Carbine. “Did he make it to that island?” He demands, turning his attention back to Oliver, stabbing the taser against his chest.

Crying out, Oliver’s knees lift as a shock runs through him, his body desperate to curl into itself and seek protection from the pain. He pants through clenched teeth as the taser is moved away, spittle flying from his mouth as the aftershocks still course through him.

“Did your father make it to the island? Did he tell you anything?”

Oliver glowers, brow furrowed tightly, his lips drawn back over his teeth in a snarl. This time, he’s prepared and doesn’t holler, only shaking his head as he angrily groans in protest when the man presses the taser against his chest again. “Yes,” He says seconds later after he’s caught his breath, his simmering anger threatening to boil over, “He did.”

The man nods, leaning in close, his hands braced on his knees when he asks, “What did he tell you, Mr. Queen?”

Oliver releases a breath, watching as it puffs up in a cloud in the cold air, and then he slowly raises his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he glares up at the masked man from beneath his brows. “He told me I’m gonna kill you,” He snarls, voice dark and lethal.

“You’re _delusional!_ ” The man laughs, turning to his two cohorts, encouraging them to laugh along with him, and then he returns his attention to Oliver, leaning in close. “You’re zip-cuffed to that chair,” He smirks, standing upright.

Oliver draws his arms forward then, no longer cuffed. “Not anymore.”

After a stunned silence, the second, unarmed man reaches for his pocketed gun, but before he can aim a window shatters and the door bursts in, and someone calls “hey, boys” before _something_ knocks the gun from the man’s hand, causing him to cry out. (At first, Oliver thinks it’s an arrow, only to later realize it’s a bolt from a crossbow).

“It’s _them_ ,” the third man calls out, a note of fear in his voice.

Whoever _they_ are, it’s enough to spur the man with all the questions to attack, and he immediately takes a swing at Oliver. Ducking, Oliver pulls his chair up from under him and blocks the oncoming attack, pushing forward to knock the man off balance. Snapping off a wooden peg from the back of the chair, he pivots and stabs it into the chest of the man wielding the taser, then, blocking his arm, Oliver twists it around so the masked man tasers himself in the neck.

Hearing the third man’s approach, Oliver quickly turns them around, his arm locked around the man’s neck to hold him up as a shield. A spray of bullets fly towards him, only to cease when a brunette clad in leather and mouth painted purple, walks out of the shadows, crossbow in hand.

“I _really_ hate guns,” She snarls, firing the crossbow again, the man falling to the ground in a slump before she looks at Oliver. “You okay, Lindsay Lohan?”

Not understanding the reference, Oliver drops his human shield and moves to where a masked blonde woman in black (he notes the dimpled chin, freckled skin, and blue eyes behind the mask) is crouching beside Tommy, using her staff as support. Without prompting, Oliver’s fingers move under the cover of his friend’s jacket collar, finding a steady pulse.

Tommy's eyes flicker open, and he focuses on the masked blonde. “I ever tell you… I have a thing for blondes in head-to-toe leather?” He asks, eyes half-lidded, smacking his lips.

The masked blonde’s mouth curves into a smile. “Easy there, Casanova.” She says, patting his chest, her staff screeching against the ground as she rises to her feet. “Your girlfriend is pissed enough that you got yourself kidnapped without you making a pass at me.” She teases, wandering over to the masked goon the Huntress had shot with her crossbow, poking him with her staff when he starts to move and tells him, " _You_ can stay right there."

 _"I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you both that Hired Gun #3 is getting away,"_ Oracle announces through their comms.

"Stay with them," the blonde woman orders the brunette, assured now that Tommy is alive and will be okay (and that her sister won't _murder_ her for failing to keep the monogamous billionaire playboy from getting seriously injured like she promised) and then she's talking into her comm, "Oracle, where is he?"

“Nice mask,” Oliver calls as he settles beside Tommy, thankful that the arrival of the two masked women means that he won’t have to move up his timetable _or_ reveal his new skill-set to his best friend, but he can’t help but wonder, “Why’d you help me?”

He swears the blonde woman hesitates before she takes off in a run to pursue the fleeing man.


	3. "You weren't supposed to leave." (Dec. 8, 2009)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _Helena-centric drabble following the death of Michael._
> 
> **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[ 1 ]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/229726431_zpsd8z0ihlx.jpg) [[ 2 ]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/229724775_zpselnappvh.jpg)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Helena smiles her Mona Lisa smile, nodding distractedly when people offer her their condolences, then she takes notice of the sheer number of people that have come to the funeral to say goodbye to Michael. She'd expected Michael's mother and sister (the only family he had, aside from Helena, and she still remembers the way her heart sang when he proposed by saying _you're all the family I need, Helena, will you marry me?_ ) and her father, who insisted on being there to support her.

But Helena's surprised to see that the foot soldiers in her father's army have shown up.

“Family,” is all the answer her father gives when she asks.

She nods, understandingly, and then she's pale and shaking.

It's watching the casket being lowered into the ground that finally breaks Helena. She _crumples_ , her heart shattering her in her chest, and it's only her father's strong arms that keep her knees from hitting the ground. "I'm here, _Piccola_ , I'm here, let it all out," Her father soothes and Helena _shatters_ , sobbing so violently that she thinks she might be sick, but she allows herself to sink into her father's embrace for the first time since she was a child.

He holds her in his arms for a long time, long after the funeral is over, and long after everyone else has left.

Eventually, Frank helps her to her feet and leads her to where a town car is waiting to bring them back to their house, cradled carefully in his arms. Imelda (she's their housekeeper, having been with the family as long as Helena can remember, and she's always considered her as a mother-figure) meets them at the door, all fretting hands and worry, but Helena brushes her off absently and her heels click-clack against the marble as she makes her way to her bedroom.

" _Bella_ ," Imelda protests faintly, but Helena hears her father tell Imelda to leave her be.

Helena walks into her bedroom, shutting it behind her before she locks it, and then casts her gaze around the room and her eyes land on Michael's prized _Harvard_ sweatshirt that she made a habit of stealing just two months into their relationship. It's been a week but she still sees traces of Michael around the room and it all looks as if he's only stepped out for a moment, as if he'll walk back any minute, and for a brief moment Helena closes her eyes and tries to fool herself into thinking that it's true, that any moment now he'll come breezing back in the door with coffees and some of those cranberry bagels that she loves so much. 

But Michael's _dead_ and all she has left of him is a sweatshirt, a ring, the cross that hangs delicately around her neck, and what feels like barbed wire in her chest wrapping around her heart and ripping it to shreds.

Helena kicks off her heels and removes her coat before she curls onto the floor beside the bed, lifting the sweatshirt to her nose, inhaling deeply (it still smells like him, woody and spicy, a scent that smells like home, making her feel content and safe) and then tears sting her eyes once more, carving paths into her cheeks when she says, "How could you, Michael? How could you die and leave me here all alone," Helena demands to the empty room, voice a mere whisper, her gaze falling to the engagement ring she hasn't taken off not even _once_ since Michael proposed two months ago, "You weren't supposed to leave. You were never supposed to leave _me_."

Helena's numb to the passing of time but then Imelda knocks to let her know that she's prepared her supper, but Helena's not hungry and remains silent, ignoring the sound of Imelda's knocking and gentle coaxing. When the sun sets and her bedroom is cloaked in darkness, Helena climbs to her feet and stands, slowly, shaky on her feet, and walks into the en-suite attached to her bedroom, shedding herself of the dress and she wore to the funeral on her way. She wore her hair in a loose bun for the funeral because Michael always loved her with her hair up and, with shaky hands, she removes the bobby-pins until her dark hair cascades down her back, and then she raises her bloodshot blue eyes to the woman in the mirror and the reflection she sees is the face of someone she barely recognizes as herself.

She backs away from the mirror and the water in the shower warms quickly when she turns it on, and she steps into the shower, letting the heated water beat against her back before she quickly goes through the motions. She lathers her skin with the same vanilla body wash she remembers her mother using, allowing the familiar scent to tickle her nose and calm her nerves. She stands there, still and silent and _broken_ , until she's shivering, allowing herself this last moment of weakness before she faces the real world, and then she turns off the water.

She reaches for a towel and dries off her skin before she wraps the towel around her body. Steam billows out of the bathroom as she walks back into her bedroom and, by the time she's ready to venture out into the house, she's pale but solid. She's shattered and broken inside but, clad in grey sweatpants and comfortable black sweater, with her cross hanging delicately around her neck and Michael's ring on her finger, Helena won't let it show.

She ventures out into the house (the familiar scent of Imelda's cooking tickles her nose the moment she walks out of her bedroom and her stomach _rumbles_ and she cannot remember eating since yesterday, despite the way her father tried to gently coax her this morning at the table, _you need to eat something, please, sweet pea, for me._ ) but she slows to a stop when she passes the massive family portrait Frank had commissioned when she was eight.

She remembers sitting for that portrait, remembers how much she loved the attention, loved being so close to the both of her parents, Frank's hand heavy on her shoulder while she sat on her mother's knee, mouth curved into a wide smile. It's one of the last happy memories she has of her mother because her mother died within a year of the portrait being commissioned.

Helena tilts her head to the side as she stares up at it and, even through the medium of heavy oils, Helena can see the resemblance between her and her mother, Carmela.

 _"You were only nine when we lost Carmela,"_  Frank rasped, teary-eyed one night after one too many glasses of scotch,  _"I had my one love taken from me without getting a say in it. I argued until I was out of breath and out of voice but, in the end, Helena, life will do what it'll do. No matter who you are and how much you love."_

She remembers the way her father loved her mother, she remembers sitting on the top of the stairs and watching them dance and laugh together every night before bed, and she remembers the look of sheer _heartache_ that etched on her father's face when he was forced to watch the woman he loved fade away in a hospital bed.

Helena's hated her father for years (she was sixteen when she could no deny the truth about who and what her father was; she had taken her father's car out for a joyride, testing the limits of the car and the road, when she was pulled over by a cop who took one look at the bloodstain in the trunk and the name _Bertinelli_ before he stuttered out an apology and fled) and believes he's a monster, it's why she started feeding information to the FBI, but now, after losing Michael, she thinks she can understand some of the decisions he's made.

She's had this fire inside of her ever since the police knocked on her door and told her they'd found Michael's body, ever since they claimed it appeared to be a robbery even though nothing was missing, and she remembers the words she said to her father afterward. _"He's gone_ _,"_ Helena murmured in a dead voice, feeling something break inside of her, and then her eyes hardened, turning icy, _"I want them dead. Whoever killed Michael, I want them dead. No trial, no mercy."_

Her father stilled and gave her a long, evaluating look, and then kissed her forehead. _"No mercy,"_ He said, _"I promise."_

Helena shakes the memories from her mind and continues her trek to the kitchen, her brows furrowing in the middle of her forehead when she sees the familiar glow of light coming from her father's office, and she lets her feet take her towards the door. She can hear the low murmur of his voice as he talks on the phone and, without guilt, without hesitation, Helena listens in on his conversation.

"Have the police found anything?" Frank asks, tapping one finger absently on his oak desk, phone pressed to his ear.

Helena's heart climbs into her throat and she steps a little closer because they're talking about _Michael._

Her father's silent for nearly two full minutes, and it's not easy for her to keep herself from making her presence known, but she waits with bated breath as he listens to (Nick? Pino?) whoever is on the other end of the line. "Thank you, my friend," Frank says and he stops tapping his finger, reaching instead for his glass of scotch, lifting it to his lips before he continues, "There's just one more matter we need to discuss."

Her mouth curves into a thoughtful frown.

What could be more important than solving Michael's murder?

" _Helena_ ," Her father says suddenly, her name a sigh on his lips.

She startles, thinking he's seen her, but then she realizes that her father is still talking to whoever is on the other end of the line and her heartbeat slows to a normal rate, only for her heart to sink down into her stomach when her father's next words shatter her entire world for the second time in one week. "My daughter can never know _I'm_ the one that had Michael murdered," Frank insists, downing his scotch before placing the crystal tumbler back on his desk, "His death can never lay at our feet."

Helena feels herself grey out, feels as the black closes in around the edges of her vision for a split second, and then her eyes harden because her father is responsible for the death of her entire world and she'll burn his to ash if it's the last thing she ever does. _No trial, no mercy_.


	4. "Stay out of my way, pretty bird." (Aug. 15, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _The Huntress crosses paths with the Canary. It’s far from friendship at first sight, but it’s something. Every great partnership has to start somewhere_. **  
> **
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[HELENA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg.html) [[SARA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg.html)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Helena crouches low as she makes her way through the abandoned, decaying warehouses down by the docks, keeping to the shadows as she loads her crossbow, keeping a careful eye out for her father's foot soldiers. They have become increasingly _twitchy_ over the past month, hands hovering over their sidearms, whispering furiously about the interference they have been receiving lately.

Shipments going missing, ambushes, meetings being interrupted. 

Information that only a member of the family would be privy to.

Nick Salvati, her father's right-hand man who asks how high before her father even tells him to jump, has been tasked with finding the leak. As a result, her father's foot soldiers have been unable to make eye contact with him for weeks, each man flinching under his steely gaze. It'd be hilarious if the lack of results wasn't making Nick _suspicious_ and her father _paranoid._

Frank Bertinelli's cadre of disposable thugs has doubled in the past week _alone_ , hired for the sole purpose of protecting the _merchandise_ her father has been smuggling into the city by way of the docks, but come morning he'll learn that it was all for nothing because Helena's determined to put an end to her father's human-trafficking tonight. (Drugs, money, women; Frank Bertinelli has his hands in a lot of pies).

Helena follows her father's men to a shipping container (she's sure if she looked into it, the shipping manifest for this particular shipping container would be missing, and she's sure the men on the cargo ship receive a significant payday for looking the other way) and finds herself a good vantage point, her crossbow at the ready, but before she can attack, she has company.

Another woman, a masked blonde woman in black leather, descends on her father's foot soldiers and Helena's eyebrow arches in interest because people on the street have been whispering about the _woman in black_ — Helena's Starling City's nightmare, the  _Huntress_ that haunts its streets, but the vigilante known as the  _Canary_ has been revered as a savior, a welcome reprieve from the horrors that have flashed across the screen ever since the earthquake destroyed the Glades— that has spent the past couple of months attacking attackers.

She's put three would-be rapists in the hospital just this week, swooping in like an avenging angel, ready to smite the wicked, and she does the same now when she charges at her father's foot soldiers, bo-staff at the ready. She doesn't show any mercy as renders Pino (Pino's Helena's cousin, the son of her father's brother, and he's set to become head of the Bertinelli crime family after her father because of that typical patriarchal bullshit) unconscious, but not before she breaks his arm in two places.

Letting loose a war cry of outrage, one of her father's men aims a spray of semi-automatic fire at the Canary, demanding, "Where are you," when the blonde woman disappears into the shadows like some sort of ghost. 

Helena takes her aim, shouts, "Here," and then pulls the trigger when he turns in her direction, the arrow whizzing through the air and embedding itself in his chest before he falls to the ground, _dead_.

Helena's purple warrior coat flutters around her when she leaps down from the top of the shipping container she'd been stationed on, and her mouth curves into a smirk when she sees the _realization_ of who she is dawn on their faces, and then she loads and fires arrow after arrow, all of which find their intended target, but then she's out of arrows and her latest target is out of bullets.

She tosses her crossbow to the ground just as the man throws his gun aside, and Helena backs up, waiting for him to come to her.

He meets her blows and deflects her kicks, grabbing her leg and anchoring it to his side, and then he's using his body weight to send both of them careening to the ground. "Mr. Bertinelli will be _pleased_ when I bring him your head," He snarls as he rises quickly, his hand going to her throat, his grip tight enough that it breaks the chain for the delicate cross Michael gifted to her on their first Christmas, and his eyes widen, voice choked when he asks, " _Helena?_ "

Helena uses his distraction to attack him, slamming her elbow into his thigh, and that extra second is all it takes for her to gain the upper hand once more. She uses him as leverage as she twists his body into the air, scissoring her legs around his waist, and then his back is slamming into the loose gravel and she has her knife (she always keeps a knife on hand, because her father taught her a long time ago that guns can run out of bullets, just like crossbows can run out of arrows) to his throat. "Sorry, Tony," Helena grits, "But no one can know my secret."

Tony's eyes burn, an icy blue. "You'll burn in _Hell_ for this, Helena."

"It'll be worth it," Helena snarls, and then she presses as hard as she can when she pulls the knife across his throat, and then blood flows like a river, coating her hands and her boots while Tony struggles, gasping for air, gurgling, choking, clutching at nothing.

Helena's heart hammers in her chest and, for one brief moment, she lets herself _feel_ it. It's been two years since she learned her father had Michael murdered, and her crusade has resulted into a river of blood being spilled, but it's a small price to pay for her father's destruction. Helena pulls in deep breaths to calm her heartbeat and, when black combat boots enter her line of sight, Helena's face is perfectly composed when she makes eye contact with the woman in black.

"I never knew a _canary_ could be so lethal," Helena muses as she moves to pick up her crossbow.

The Canary crouches using her her bo-staff for support, her voice mild when she says, "I didn't know you were such an accomplished _huntress_ , Ms. Bertinelli."

Helena stiffens at those words, shifting her stance, turning hostile as she lifts her crossbow, aiming it at the blonde's throat.

Bright blue eyes sweep over her, appraising her, then,  "You're out of arrows, Huntress," The Canary reminds her.

"I think I've proved I don't _need_ the crossbow," Helena smirks, nodding her head towards Tony.

The Canary purses her lips in contemplation, but then she's pushing to her feet, claiming, "I have no quarrel with you." She reaches out her hand then, Helena's gold cross dangling from her outstretched gloved-hand, and then she's backing away, making herself appear as non-threatening as possible. (It's unsuccessful, Helena loathes to admit it but the blonde is the better fighter of the two of them; and she's the kind of mean that comes with a broken arm). "And I'm not here to interfere with your crusade," She adds.

Helena believes that. "Yeah," She drawls, eyebrow arched, "Word on the street is you have a crusade of your own."

"No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men," The Canary declares, the words falling from her lips like a mantra.

Helena's mouth curves into a slight smile because, yeah, she thinks she could get behind that mantra, but instead she lowers her crossbow and pockets the gold chain (she's long since stopped wearing her engagement ring, but she can't bear to take off the gold cross, removing it feels like killing Michael all over again) and then she walks over to the shipping container, side by side with the Canary.

Between the two of them, they pry the shipping container open, and Helena's heart gives a twinge when she sees the _frightened_ girls that stare back at them, their dead eyes reflections of what she sees in the mirror each morning. "Be quick, the police will have received reports of the gunfire by now," Helena whispers as she brushes past the Canary, and she keeps walking, heading in the direction of her motorcycle just as police sirens can be heard in the distance. "Hey," Helena calls, continuing when the Canary looks back at her, "Not that this hasn't been _fun_ , but in the future you should stay out of my way, pretty bird."

Sara slings her bo-staff over her shoulder as the other woman retreats, disappearing into the night. Shaking her head, she moves to reassure the girls that they're safe, that the police are on their way, that the men who dared hurt them died _screaming_ , and when she vanishes into the shadows after hearing her father's voice, Sara's mouth curves into a small smile, the nickname _pretty bird_ resounding in her head.


	5. "I'm your girl." (Jan. 12, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _Felicity Smoak’s plan to keep her head down and live a life of a normal IT-Girl is disrupted when she’s handed a mystery by her boss, Walter Steele._
> 
> **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
> **OUTFITS:** [[FELICITY]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/230120686_zps770espdz.jpg.html)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Felicity replaces her brunette hair with sunshine blonde (dear god dear lord she looks like her mother) and trades in her combat boots and leather jacket for practical heels and short skirts and glasses that she hasn't worn since she was fifteen. She leaves behind MIT, as well as all of the bittersweet memories of Coop, and decides it's time for her to leave behind Felicity-the-Hacktivist and become Felicity Smoak, MIT graduate, and IT-Girl.

She accomplishes this by accepting an entry-level position at Queen Consolidated. It’s mind-numbing work and she could probably do it in her sleep because she’s _so_ overqualified for the position— hell, she’s overqualified for her so-called _supervisor’s_ position —but she is no longer the person she once was. Felicity-the-Hacktivist doesn’t exist anymore. She’s Felicity Smoak, IT-Girl, so she keeps her head down and does her work. Her work is flawless and beyond reproach, or so she thinks until she receives a summons from Walter Steele.

Before she can contemplate the potential consequences of her actions, Felicity is marching into Mr. Steele’s office, eyes narrowed while her grey plaid mini-skirt twirls hazardously around her thighs. “I’ve got one question,” Felicity practically shouts, her mother’s _loud voice_ tumbling from her pink mouth, “ _Why_ am I being fired?”

Walter Steele looks up from the report he’d been studying, one eyebrow arched, “Ms. Smoak, isn’t it?”

“ _Yes_. And I am, without a doubt, the single most valuable member of your technical division. That’s including my so-called _supervisor_ ,” Felicity rants, unable to stop herself from forming quotations around the word ‘supervisor’ because even now it’s laughable to her that _Dick the Dick_ holds that position. “I know I’ve only been here a year but letting me go would be a major error for this company.”

“I agree,” Walter agrees, closing the folder with a snap, “Which is why you’re not being fired.”

Felicity blinks, then blinks again, because his words do not compute. “Oh,” Felicity murmurs, and then her eyes widen when she realizes her attitude was misplaced. “ _Oh._ I assumed when you brought me up here it was because you were, you know,” She says before she gesticulates having her throat slit. In her defense, any rational person would assume they're being cut loose when they receive a summons from the CEO. 

Walter Steele has the most impressive poker face she’s ever seen (which is saying something, because she practically grew up in a casino in Las Vegas) and he doesn’t even blink. “It’s because I wanted you to look into something for me,” He says, handing her the report he’d been studying when she stormed in. “A variance of 2.6 million on a failed investment from one year ago. It was authorized by my wife," His recent marriage to Moira Queen is all Channel 7 News has been talking about for weeks now, "I was hoping you could find out some of the… _details_ of the transaction for me.”

Felicity accepts the report, blue eyes scanning the information in front of her before she purses her lips. “Find out?” She asks, seeking clarification because it's been a little over a year since she started to work at Queen Consolidated. And, so far, she's managed to stick to her plan of being a boring, normal IT-Girl by keeping her head down and doing her job. She has no interest in getting involved in some Shakespearean drama between her boss and his new wife.

“Dig up,” Walter says, looking at her pointedly, “ _Discreetly_.”

Felicity wants to refuse, wants to continue to live her life as a normal IT-Girl, but she is _bored_ and this is the most interesting thing to happen to her since she started working at Queen Consolidated. “I’m your girl,” Felicity beams, accepting the task with a nod, her words catching up with her as she makes her way back towards the door, and she winces when she looks back at Walter. “I mean, I’m _not_ your girl. I wasn’t making a pass at you.” Walter’s eyebrows travel higher up his forehead and she quits while she’s ahead, blurting, “Thank you for not firing me."


	6. "Are we friends?" (Oct. 12, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter two: "Nice Mask. Why'd you help me?" (Oct. 2012)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27673857) from Felicity's POV.
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[SIN]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228806400_zpsrrbiisjj.jpg.html) [[FELICITY]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228782095_zpseewprnzo.jpg.html?filters%5Buser%5D=146448558&filters%5Brecent%5D=1&sort=1&o=9) [[HELENA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228756311_zpsbb1cnf8s.jpg.html?filters%5Buser%5D=146448558&filters%5Brecent%5D=1&sort=1&o=7) [[SARA] ](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228752653_zpsap4ahbmk.jpg.html?filters%5Buser%5D=146448558&filters%5Brecent%5D=1&sort=1&o=8)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

"Hey, Boss Lady," Sin says slowly, her brow furrowed. "Your one o’clock—"

Felicity doesn’t turn to face Sin, simply holds up a finger as if to say _one moment_ as she keeps clicking away on her computer, determined to find out more about Oliver Queen. It’s been less than 48 hours since Channel 7 News announced the billionaire’s return home and she processed her way through a pint of mint-chip since that first night, looking for any digital trace over the last three years. Because, despite what Channel 7 has been reporting, Oliver Queen did _not_ spend the last five years on a deserted island in the North China Sea.

Oliver _hadn’t_ been on the island when Sara had been rescued by the League. Sara's already confessed that half-starving and delirious, she'd begged Nyssa to look for him when the brunette had found her off the coast of Lian Yu. When the assassin had found no trace of Oliver, Sara had believed he'd died after the whole debacle on the freighter with Slade Wilson.

That leaves the last three years unaccounted for, which makes Oliver Queen a mystery.

Felicity’s always hated mysteries. They bug her and they need to be solved.

Sin clears her throat, gaining Felicity’s attention.

Rolling her eyes, Felicity acknowledges the teenager’s presence. "Hello, Sin," She mumbles distractedly as she reaches for another handful of M&Ms, tossing them in her mouth before she looks over at the teenager, blue eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?" Felicity asks, suspicious, "You look like you're here to work and you only work here on Tuesdays and Fridays."

Sin rolls her eyes, claiming, "It  _is_ Friday."

Felicity pauses, brows furrowed as she stares at Sin, but the teenager's amusement is undeniable, and Felicity's eyes widen because if it's Friday that means... "Wait," She points a red pen at Sin, her brows hiked for emphasis as she leans back in her computer chair, "If it's Friday that means—"

"You have a one o'clock meeting with a Curtis Holt," Sin finishes with a smug tone that has Felicity's entire face twitching because _rude_.

Cindy "Sin" Taylor is Sara's pseudo little sister/foster daughter from the Glades. She came with the vigilante gig and, since the earthquake, she has been working at Felicity's software firm two days a week while working towards getting her GED. It's a great set-up because Felicity _needs_ help around the office, and the only real downfall is that Sin's blunt and has a 'screw the world'-attitude that reminds the blonde a little too much of herself during her college days.

"Who has been politely scrolling through his phone while I tried to get your attention," Sin adds.

Felicity allows that to sink in before she climbs to her feet, muttering under her breath, " _Frak_ ," and then her high-heeled sandals click against the floor as she makes her way towards Curtis Holt. "Mr. Holt," Felicity greets, holding out a hand, "Good afternoon, I think. I’ve been here all night. I’m sure you know how it is, pulling an all-nighter because a mystery has fallen in your lap," She babbles, wincing when she sees the wide-eyed look on his face, knowing what that means, "Sorry if I’m babbling. I’m running on a little _too_ much caffeine and not enough sleep."

Sin snorts, "What else is new?"

Felicity’s face twitches and she aims a scowl at the teenager before she waves a hand between Sin and Curtis, "This is Sin. She’s something of a family friend," Felicity explains, and it’s true because Sin is _Sara’s_ friend and the Birds of Prey are Felicity’s family. "She works here two days a week while she attends classes," She adds, "And I’d ask her to get you a coffee, but she has made her stance on that task _very_ clear."

"I broke the last coffee maker we had," Sin explains with a smirk, waving a hand in greeting before she adds. "And since Boss Lady runs on coffee and spite, she hasn’t asked me to make coffee since." Sin's smirk turns a little triumphant when Curtis Holt barely manages to smother his amused snort.

Felicity looks to the ceiling and prays for patience because since becoming a pseudo-parental figure to Sin ( _three birds and a baby,_ Laurel once teased, eyes sparkling) she’s developed a new respect for the patience her mother always had, raising her as a single mother. "Sin, I’m sure you have work to do, so _go do it_. Curtis, if you’ll follow me, do you mind if I call you Curtis?" She asks, leading him into her office, waving her hand before he can answer. "Look, I’ll cut to the chase," Felicity says, sitting in her chair while he sits in the chair on the other side of her desk, "I want you for Smoak Tech."

Curtis blinks, "Oh." His voice is barely audible as he looks at Felicity, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he processes what she’s said.

Felicity opens her mouth to continue just as her cell phone starts ringing and she winces, holding up a finger as if to say _one moment_ when she sees Sara’s name flash across the screen, "I am _so_ sorry, it’s a friend." She explains, opening her mouth to explain why it’s important, but the only thing that comes to mind is _I’m one-third of the vigilante team known as the Birds of Prey_. "You know what, it’s a long story," Felicity says.

"Why do I have a feeling you have a lot of stories, all of which are long," Curtis muses and Felicity gives him the stink-eye but she doesn’t think she’s imagining the amused look on his face when he gestures for her to answer.

Felicity smiles, thankful, and brings the phone to her ear, "Hello?"

" _Felicity, it’s Sara_ ," She says like Felicity doesn’t have caller ID, " _Are you near a computer?_ "

Felicity’s eyes narrow, affronted. "It’s like you don’t even know me," Felicity huffs, "But I’m in the middle—"

" _I’m with Helena. We’re looking into someone for my dad,"_ Sara continues as if she hasn’t spoken, which is incredibly rude and behavior she’s come to expect from Helena rather than Sara, " _I’ve emailed you everything dad has on him. I need you tell me where he is right now._ "

"—of something," Felicity finishes before balances her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder, fingers dancing across her keyboard as she brings up Sara’s email. "Why can't you just use your super impressive ninja skills to find this perp?" Felicity asks and then her brows furrow. "Wait. Do they actually call them perps or is that just a lie I’ve been told by many-a police dramas on television—"

" _His location, Felicity._ "

"One more second," Felicity pleads, looking to Curtis.

"What?" Sara asks, baffled, then Helena adds, "Is Geek-Girl losing her touch?"

Felicity’s mouth curves into a frown because she’s going to make Helena _pay_ for that comment later, but all she says is, "Never mind. It doesn’t matter," Felicity gripes as her eyes dart between two screens while she continues to click keys on her keyboard. "According to the file you sent me this guy, or girl, I’m an equal opportunity kind of a girl, is something of a hacker." Curtis’ eyebrows hike up his forehead at her words and Felicity winces when she adds, "Thankfully, _I_ am better and choose to use my skills for the power of good. I’ll call you back when I have a location," Felicity promises.

"You’re the best, Felicity," Sara says and then the line goes dead.

"Now, where were we? Oh, I remember." Felicity says, hitting a few keys so her program will keep looking for today’s scumbag, turning her attention back to Curtis. "I want you because you graduated top of your class from Starling University with a degree in biochemistry two years ago and took a position at Queen Consolidated in the Design Innovations department because you had your eye on Applied Sciences," Felicity says without even consulting his resume because she has it memorized because she _wants_ Curtis Holt for Smoak Tech. "And, the truth is, I’m spread too thin here and I need someone to help me."

"I can see that," Curtis notes with a small smile.

Because the universe is one twisted bitch and hates her, her phone starts ringing again.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Felicity groans when she sees it's her mother.

"Is this what a normal day looks like for you?" Curtis asks.

"Honestly, this is better than most," Felicity bemoans as she ignores the call and sends a quick text to Donna, promising to call her later. Her mother sends her back a text with about a hundred kissy-face emojis and Felicity sighs, wondering for the millionth time what the chances are that she's adopted. "Back to my sales pitch," Felicity beams, her eyes fluttering closed when her computer dings and she holds up a finger, "One more second. I promise, just one more second."

"I can come back later," Curtis offers because she's clearly busy, which is sweet, but she'll be damned before she loses Curtis Holt.

"No need, this should only take a moment," Felicity says before adding, "I _hope_ ," As she presses #2 on her speed dial and brings up the traffic camera and following today's scumbag as he walks into her favorite diner that has the best peach cobbler in the world. "The person you're looking for just showed up on the traffic camera at the corner of Prescott and Gardner," Felicity says, speaking the moment Sara connects the call. "He just walked into Josie's," She adds, and then frowns, thoughtfully, "Grab me some peach cobbler if they have any, hey?"

Sara snorts, " _I'll see what I can do. Thanks, Felicity."_

Felicity does a little happy dance in her chair, startling when she spins in her chair and sees Curtis, having momentarily forgotten that he was there. Clearing her throat, she turns serious once more and says, "The truth is, I have been looking to expand Smoak Tech. We live in a technological age and I want Smoak Tech too, not only acquire the best software but to _develop_ them." Felicity’s mouth, painted a vibrant red, widens into a dazzling smile. "So, I guess my only question is, would you like to help me?" Felicity asks.

Curtis blinks, stares at her for a moment, then says, "May I ask a question?" He asks and then gestures to the pile of resumes she scoured through before deciding she wanted him, "Why me?"

"Mostly? Because you’re a genius and I’d be an idiot not to hire you," Felicity leans forward and says, "And one thing no one has never called me, is an idiot." Curtis matches her smile as she leans back into her chair, and then she admits, "Admittedly, part of it is because I know that you were terminated from Queen Consolidated —someday, when we know each other better, I open to the idea of getting drunk off too much wine and regaling you with the tales that led to _me_ being terminated at QC— because you wrote an algorithm to argue for company-wide raises. I also know Queen Consolidated took your program and used it to determine who to fire and the algorithm spat your name out, which is a load of suck, but tells me you’re a team player and like to think outside the box."

Curtis nods.

"And I also know you have an interview set-up with Palmer Tech," Felicity continues, and she cannot help the way she growls, low and annoyed, in the back of her throat when she mentions the name _Palmer_. "And I will gladly take each and every chance to one-up that _un_ scruffy looking nerf-herder ever since he tried to buy out my company," She says honestly.

That startles a laugh out of him, loud and real, and Felicity relaxes a little because she believes she has him hook line, and sinker. "Well, at least you’re honest," Curtis muses with a shrug, and Felicity thinks Curtis is someone that she could be friends with outside of work. Take that, high school guidance counselor.

Felicity reaches for a folder on the corner of her desk, the contract that she’s already drawn up because she’s determined to win this battle against Ray Palmer, and hands it to Curtis, who stares at them and picks them up gingerly, like maybe they’ll bite. "There are, of course, some points on that contract that are negotiable," Felicity says, "But I think you’ll find it more than fair."

"Yeah," Curtis says as he reads the contract, then he looks up at Felicity, "Do I need to sign anything?"

"Yes," Felicity nods, "But you should hold onto that for a few days. Have someone look the contract over, maybe?" She suggests before she says, "And you should go to your Palmer Tech interview, hear what they have to say. I want you to be sure before you sign on with me," Felicity says, waving a dismissive hand when she sees the way his brows furrow, "We’re a smaller company that Palmer Tech."

"Some would say that makes it more personal," Curtis argues.

"Yes, and I'd agree, but I still want you to be sure." Felicity says, climbing to her feet and holding out her card, "My personal number is on the back, call me if you have any questions. Sin will give you an employee package on your way out, if you choose to sign on, just bring the signed paperwork back on Monday. I look forward to potentially working with you, Mr. Holt."

Curtis smiles, "I look forward to potentially working with you, too, Ms. Smoak."

Felicity watches him go, smiling when he accepts Sin’s high-five on his way out, and then startles when her phone starts ringing for the third time in the last hour. She sighs and leans back in her chair as she slips her Bluetooth onto her ear before she answers, but Laurel’s speaking before she has the chance to say anything.

" _Felicity, it’s Laurel,_ " Laurel says unnecessarily, sounding ruffled, " _I need a favor_."

Felicity blinks, confused. "Are we favor friends now?" She asks, then another thought occurs to her, "Are we _friends_?"

Chaos can be heard over the other end of the line when Laurel pauses, breathing a confused, " _What_?"

Felicity waves a dismissive hand at Sin when she hovers in the doorway and straightens in her chair before rolls closer to her computer, straightening her back. "Never mind, sorry. What can I do for you, Laurel?" She has to admit, she's curious why the lawyer is calling her. Laurel's aware of their vigilante activities, sure, and has even helped on occasion, but this is the first time Laurel's contacted Felicity directly.

" _Oliver and Tommy were just kidnapped outside the District Attorney's Office_ ," Laurel answers quickly, tone all business, like this is an everyday occurrence even though she's talking about her ex-boyfriend and current-boyfriend being _kidnapped_. " _The SCPD has been notified, but you can find them faster_ ," Felicity flushes at the way that's said with absolute certainty.

Sin hovers in the doorway, frowning, "Felicity?"

Felicity looks up and instructs Sin, "Text Sara and Helena. If anyone else calls for me, tell them that I’m on an important conference call and take a message," She waits for the teenager to nod before she focuses on Laurel. "Helena and Sara are on the way, Laurel. What do you need me to do?"

" _I didn't manage to get the license plate, but Tommy's phone wasn't found at the scene,_ " Laurel tells her, " _I need you to help me find him by googling his cell or something._ "

"Pinging his GPS," Felicity answers distractedly because she has long since accepted that the people around her are technologically inept. "Give me a second," She says as she makes sure her laptop’s security protocols in place before she goes about hacking the GPS on Tommy’s phone like Laurel asked even though it’s probably pointless. "His phone’s been turned off," Felicity says and Laurel curses, frightened, but Felicity does this every night and she’s not about to fail Sara’s sister. "Laurel, do you know what kind of vehicle it was?" Felicity asks, bringing up the traffic camera outside the District Attorney’s Office.

" _A white van, had a logo on the side,_ " Laurel answers without hesitation. She's probably already been over this with the SCPD.

Felicity nods and her cornflower blue eyes scan the information in front of her until she finds what she’s looking for. "Okay, Laurel, I have it," She tells the other blonde before  "I'm following the van on the traffic camera, Laurel." She looks up when she notices movement then says, "Helena and Sara just got here."

" _Oh, Sara's never going to let him live this down._ " Laurel snorts, but she sounds clogged like she's fighting tears, " _Tommy's going to be unbearable. He hates being a damsel in distress,_ " She adds.

Felicity doesn't manage to hold back her laugh, smiling in spite of herself because Laurel's not wrong. "Tommy's going to milk this for all it's worth and it is going to be _terrible_ ," Felicity agrees as she watches Sin talk to Helena and Sara, then promises, "I'll call you the moment we have him, Laurel."

" _No need,_ " Laurel dismisses, " _I’m on my way to you_."

Felicity nods and ends the call, using the traffic cameras to follow the white van through Star City, then her partners are walking into her office. "We were already on our way back, but Sin said it was an emergency and you were talking to Laurel," Sara says, crossing her arms over her chest while she rests all of her weight on one leg, face stony when she asks, "What do we know?"

"Tommy and Oliver were kidnapped by masked dirt bags outside the District Attorney’s Office—" Felicity starts.

"Ballsy," Helena notes as she drops the take-out bag from Josie's on the desk before she moves to hover over Felicity's shoulder.

"I have footage of Oliver and Tommy being loaded into the back of a white van by Hired Guns #1 and #2 while Hired Gun #3 jumps in the driver seat," Felicity says without acknowledging Helena’s comment because she knows the brunette isn’t expecting a response and then before Sara can ask, Felicity continues. "Tommy’s phone is turned off, but I’m tracking the white van," Felicity says, eyes dancing across her three monitors.

"Suit up," Sara instructs Helena, then she looks to Felicity, "Let us know the moment you have a location."

Felicity nods once, curtly, while her partners move to suit up, easily falling into the role of Oracle.


	7. "You have a little fight in you." (July 8, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men. Felicity Smoak is saved by a masked blonde woman in black seemingly on a one-woman mission to eradicate misogyny, attacking men who attack women._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[FELICITY]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/232965851_zpsk0xymtgn.jpg.html?filters%5Buser%5D=146448558&filters%5Brecent%5D=1&sort=1&o=5) [[SARA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg.html)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

After the earthquake, it takes nearly three weeks before the power is hooked back up, and two months later there’s still portions of the city smoldering. Crime reaches an all-time high, which is worrying because Starling City’s crime rate has never been _low_ , and Felicity feels _exhausted_ in a way she’s never really felt before.

Felicity is walking back to the clock tower (her old apartment building was damaged in the earthquake and, while she received a substantial severance package from Queen Consolidated, it won’t last forever so she decided to buy an old abandoned clock tower with the intention of using the bottom level as an office for her own software firm while converting the upper level into a loft) after a long day of dealing with Ted Gaynor.

She’s been developing a new software for a private security called Blackhawk Squad Protection Group and she’s reached something of a roadblock, so she’d decided to process her way through a pint of mint-chip but she ran out last night, so she had to walk to the corner store a few blocks away because her beloved Mini Cooper didn’t survive the earthquake (apparently earthquakes weren’t covered under her lease).

She’s rubbing her tired eyes when she feels the hair on the back of her neck rise and she tightens her hold on her tote bag in response, fully prepared to use it as a makeshift weapon if she must, and speeds up, her block-heel sandals click-clacking against the pavement.

Catcalls follow her for nearly three blocks (during which time Felicity prepares to do everything she learned as an angry teenager with a ‘screw the world’-attitude) before they die out and she finally relaxes.

Felicity releases a ragged breath, pressing her palm against her racing heart, only to yelp when a man built like a bulldozer steps out of the shadows in front of her.

“Nice night, ain’t it?” He asks, his lips curved into a cruel smirk, only for a laugh, a wretched sound, to fall from his mouth when she uses all her strength to smack him in the face with her purse when he advances on her. “You’ve got a little fight in you,” He notes, rubbing his jaw with his right hand. “I _like_ that,” He practically purrs.

“Then you’re going to love _me_ ,” a new voice snarls, a woman’s voice, and then a masked woman dressed in black leather from head to toe emerges from the shadows holding a metal staff menacingly over her shoulder. “Get out of here,” She orders Felicity, who is frozen on the spot, and then she attacks.

The woman in black doesn’t show any mercy and renders Felicity’s would-be attacker unconscious, but not before she breaks his arm, his collarbone, and _at least_ three ribs.

After that night, it seems like everyone and their mother is talking about the masked vigilante, a welcome reprieve from the horrors that have flashed across the screen ever since the earthquake destroyed the Glades. The woman in black (who needs a better name than _the woman in black_ , Felicity decides) is apparently on a one-woman mission to eradicate misogyny, attacking men who attack women, and then it becomes a two-woman mission when she joins up with the other vigilante Channel 7 News has been calling The Huntress.

(Again, that’s another story).


	8. "See you around, Geek-Girl." (Nov. 14, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:**   _Helena and her partner, Sara Lance, seek IT assistance from Felicity Smoak._ **  
> **
> 
> **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**  [[HELENA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729983_zpsh6mgva31.jpg.html) [[SARA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228756784_zpsz7eejbxq.jpg.html) [[FELICITY]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228816442_zpsqz3wzr28.jpg.html) [[SUSAN]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228754484_zpsqbjghbds.jpg.html)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Helena, clad in a green sleeveless dress and platform sandals that make her look like a total badass, crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at the simple sign in the window that reads _Smoak Technologies_. “I’m still not sold on this plan of yours, pretty bird,” She sighs.

Sara turns her head and watches Helena, blue eyes sparkling. “Helena, we can’t decrypt it, we’re _tried_ ,” She defends, “So now it’s time to look at other options.” Her blonde braid is stark against her black leather jacket as it sways against her back, dangling over her shoulder when she yanks the door open and looks back at her partner, “Are you coming?”

Helena rolls her eyes as she catches up with the blonde assassin. “You don’t even _know_ her, Sara,” She mutters under her breath as she walks through the open door, ignoring Sara’s raspy chuckle behind her.

“There was a time I didn’t know _you_ , Helena,” Sara points out reasonably.

Helena’s face twitches in aggravation because she can’t argue against that point.

It’s been months since their first fateful meeting down at the docks; since their heart-to-heart at Michael’s grave a couple of weeks later that ended with the two of them becoming a dynamic duo, and Sara’s become a constant at her side. Helena _relies_ on Sara.

It’s a terrifying venture, because the last person she opened her heart to was Michael, and the last person she trusted was her father. Helena’s not looking forward to the day that the other shoe drops and Sara does something to betray her. (Sara swears the day will never come, and Helena believes her more and more each time).

Helena’s platform sandals click-clack against the wood floors as she walks further into the office and finds a pretty blonde sitting at her desk in the middle of her lunch break. “Felicity Smoak?... Hi, I’m Helena Bertinelli, and this is my partner, Sara Lance.”

She says _partner_ instead of _bodyguard_ even though that’s Sara’s official cover. It was a way to explain why they’re constantly together and, so far, it seems to be working. But Helena knows it’s only a matter of time before someone asks how a shipwrecked Pre-Med student learned the skills necessary to become a bodyguard.

“I found this in my father’s office after he died,” Helena continues as she holds out a security fob with a pleasant, but fake smile etched on her face. “It has data that is _imperative_ to Bertinelli Construction,” she still cannot believe her father named her as the sole heir to his fortune _and_ the family’s construction company (Pino’s face had nearly turned purple when the lawyer read the will because Frank left her _everything_ and Helena hates him a little more for that) but she’s determined to use both to help the city that her father helped destroy long before an earthquake destroyed the Glades. “Unfortunately, it’s password protected, and I can't seem to find the damn pin anywhere,” Helena shrugs, “If there's anything you can do, I would _really_ appreciate it.”

“Well, if I was a criminal, I probably wouldn’t write the password on a sticky-note for anyone to find either, ” Felicity muses as she wheels herself closer to take the security fob, turning it over in her hands, her cornflower blue eyes widening behind her glasses when her words catch up with her brain. “Not that I think _you’re_ a criminal, obviously,” She babbles, “Just because you inherited your father’s fortune and business doesn’t mean you’re also taking over the _other_ family business. Not that his business or your business is any of _my_ business because you clearly came here for me to hack into this, which I will do, in 3…2…1…”

“You’re cute,” Sara notes, mouth curved into a small smile.

She blinks, noticing the other blonde for the first time, and then she babbles because even she, who has never been adept at picking up social cues, can tell that Sara is flirting with her. But Felicity ignores it and decrypts the security fob in record time and says, “Um, I don’t think this has anything to do with _Bertinelli Construction_.” Her eyes scan the logs and shipping manifests and Felicity can feel a heavy weight settle in her chest when she adds, “I think what you stumbled upon, or rather, had _me_ stumble upon, has to do with your father’s _other_ enterprise. It’s full of shipping manifests and logs that track the _merchandise_ your father brought into the city,” Felicity says, and wow, she does _not_ want to consider what that merchandise is.

Helena doesn’t bat an eyelash, “Do you know what the merchandise is?”

Felicity narrows her eyes in suspicion but her fingers dance across the keyboard as she brings up the files. “It doesn’t go into detail, but if you go to this address tonight, dollars to doughnuts you’ll find out,” She scribbles down the address on a post-it note before she hands it to Helena. “A shipment is due to arrive tonight,” She adds.

Helena stares at Felicity, weighing her opinion of the other woman, but then she flashes her a small smile and accepts the post-it note. “Thank you,” Helena nods, walking towards the door, “We’ll let you get back to your lunch. See you around, Geek-Girl.”

Felicity’s pink mouth quirks into a small smile and she’s ready to write off this off as the most bizarre experience ever, and she reaches for what remains of her Big Belly Buster, only to pause when Sara’s voice stops her.

“You know,” Sara says conversationally, her blonde braid sweeping across her back as she tilts her head to the side, “Patty Shack over on 5th and Brewer has the best burgers in town.”

“Well, the Patty Shack’s in China White’s territory, so you can risk a bullet for your sub-par burger if you want,” Felicity counters without missing a beat, “But Big Belly Burger is the food of the _gods_.”

Sara arches an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her face, “It’s full of salt and grease.”

“I thought those were the secret ingredients,” Felicity says as she takes a deliberate bite, eyebrow arched in challenge.

Later that night, when she’s on her tablet reading about how some self-made genius billionaire wants to re-brand the city by changing the name to _Star_ City, Felicity’s quiet night of relaxation is interrupted when the weather forecast is replaced by breaking news.

 _“This just in_ ,” Susan Williams (the news anchor for Channel 52 News Report) announces. _“Earlier this evening the SCPD was involved in a major drug bust in the warehouse district down by Starling Bay. Four kilos of cocaine, as well as $200,000 cash, were seized after the SCPD was called to the scene after reports of gunfire. While the SCPD is responsible for the arrest, many people say that the real heroes tonight were _Starling City's own vigilantes who…”__

It’s clear from her tone that Susan Williams disagrees with that assessment but her next words are drowned out when Felicity makes a low sound in her throat, a surprised squeak, before she sets aside her tablet on her coffee table and goes in search of ice-cream because she has a feeling she was just an accessory to vigilantism, and it’s going to take her _at least_ a pint of mint-chip to process her way through _that_.

Mere hours after she told Helena Bertinelli and Sara Lance there was a shipment of _something_ coming in by way of the docks to arrive at a warehouse near the skinny part of the Starling Bay (Hudson Ave was the address, Felicity knows) Starling City’s vigilantes, a masked blonde woman in black and a crossbow-toting brunette that started her vigilante career by targeting the _Bertinelli_ crime family, were involved in a shootout in the warehouse district.

Sara Lance and Helena Bertinelli _are_ Starling City's vigilantes.

Felicity’s mind whirls when she comes to that realization, almost like a track with too many trains, but she decides to never breathe a word of her realization because she doesn’t want to end up like Frank Bertinelli (which is a great plan, she thinks, though she doubts they’d kill her because vigilantes who dedicate their lives to protecting women would never hurt one) and also because they’re making a _difference_.

She decides not to confront the duo on their secret because it’s none of her business how the two of them decide to spend their nights (her brain thinks of the _worst_ ways to say things) and the whole experience was an anomaly. An outlier.

Besides, Felicity doubts she’ll ever see them again.


	9. "A Queen's ransom." (Oct. 12, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows **Ch 2** : ["Nice mask. Why'd you help me?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27673857) and **Ch 6** : ["Are we friends?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27713178).
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[LAUREL]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228729760_zps76ajqtuv.jpg.html) [[FELICITY]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228782095_zpseewprnzo.jpg.html?filters%5Buser%5D=146448558&filters%5Brecent%5D=1&sort=1&o=9) [[MOIRA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228753451_zpsq5bi0rhj.jpg.html) [[THEA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/229168411_zpsdlp7e5tk.jpg.html)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Laurel is an anxious shadow hovering over Felicity’s shoulder as she waits for someone, anyone, to confirm that Tommy is _okay_. Licking her lips, Laurel remembers how he’d made her favorite, banana pancakes, that morning to apologize for the argument they’d had the night before he’d left for dinner at the Queen’s.

Tommy invited her to join him, pointing out that Oliver would have to be told about their relationship _eventually_ , but she’d refused and made a comment about how she would sooner share a table with Adam Hunt and how she’d hoped Oliver would _rot in hell a whole lot longer than five years_ , a comment that had Tommy walking away from her, claiming, _“You got Sara back, Laur. You got your miracle. Oliver’s family is entitled to the same.”_

She’d known Tommy was talking about himself as much as Moira and Thea. Best friends since childhood, Oliver’s always been Tommy’s brother in everything except blood. In every way that mattered.

Guilt had wrapped around Laurel's heart like barbed wire the moment Tommy closed the door behind him and she had tossed and turned in bed until he joined her, curling around her like an overly affectionate octopus before whispering  _sorry_ , and then she woke up the aroma of his famous banana pancakes. She'd wanted to join him, to sit at the table and talk while they each enjoyed their coffee, but she’d had court first thing this morning and she was _this close_ to nailing Adam Hunt. So Laurel brushed him, leaving her pancakes untouched, and then Tommy had shown up at her office with Oliver. Tommy hadn’t come inside, but Laurel had seen him in the distance while she argued with Oliver, and then both Tommy and Oliver had been _kidnapped_.

Laurel just really, really needs to hear Tommy’s voice.

“Canary,” Laurel says into the earpiece Felicity handed her without prompting the moment she arrived at Smoak Tech, “Do you have eyes on them?” She asks, licking her lips before she continues, asking, “Is… is he okay?”

She holds her breath and there's dead silence on the comms but then, through what she's sure is Sara's earpiece, Laurel can make out the familiar timbre of Tommy's voice. “ _I ever tell you…_ _”_ Tommy begins, and he sounds concussed, sounds out of it in a way she hasn't heard since the early months following the loss of the Queen's Gambit. “ _I have a thing for blondes in head-to-toe leather_?” He asks, smacking his lips.

Laurel laughs abruptly, raising her hands to cover her mouth, and her eyes shine with tears when she hears her sister’s response over the comms. “ _Easy there, Casanova,_ ” Sara teases, and Laurel can picture her wide smile when she says, “ _Your girlfriend is pissed enough that you got yourself kidnapped without you making a pass at me._ ”

Sara's words are playful, and Laurel is so, so happy that the two of them have reached this point.

Tommy was right when he said she got her miracle, she needs to apologize for begrudging him is own.

Felicity’s smile is wide and dazzling when she looks back at Laurel, but then she’s speaking into her comms, addressing her two partners when she says, “I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you both that Hired Gun #3 is getting away.” Felicity continues to rattle off information to her team for another few minutes and then she’s announcing the arrival of the paramedics and the SCPD, taking out her earpiece before she climbs to her feet and pulls Laurel in for a hug. “They’re both okay, Laurel,” She promises, “ _Tommy_ is okay.”

Laurel returns the hug just as fiercely, burying her nose into the other woman's soft blonde hair, murmuring, “Thank you, Felicity, _thank you_.”

Felicity feels the lawyer suck in a deep, ragged breath and she’s sincere when she says, “You never have to thank me, Laurel.” Felicity strokes a hand up and down Laurel’s back until she feels the tension leave Laurel’s body, and then she pulls back, beaming at Laurel. “SCPD is on the scene and I’m sure they’ll call you shortly,” She soothes, “You should head to work or head to the SCPD, just in case someone notices your absence and decides to ask questions.”

Laurel nods and thanks Felicity one more time before she gathers her phone and blue purse and makes her way to the SCPD. She must look a mess based on the way everyone pauses to look at her sympathy, and when she’s approached by Lieutenant Pike, Laurel simply says, “I couldn’t stand the waiting alone anymore. I figured it was just as well to wait here; you’d receive news before anyone else.”

It’s a lie, but Pike leads her to her father’s desk and promises he’ll let her know the moment he hears anything, and her heart feels like its trying to escape out of her chest until Pike returns fifteen minutes later to tell her that Tommy and Oliver have been found. “They’re en route to Queen Manor,” Pike tells her.

Laurel pauses at the news, then scolds herself, because of course Moira was made aware of the kidnapping and of course she would want Oliver returned to her as quickly as possible. Who in their right mind would argue with the matriarch of the Queen family? With her influence and considerable wealth, Moira could simply call the doctor her family keeps on retainer for emergencies and have them come to the Manor if there was a need for medical treatment.

“Of course, thank you, Lieutenant,” Laurel smiles and then she climbs to her feet, declining his offer to have an officer drive her home, assuring him that she's fine to drive. Besides, she has no intention of going home to her empty apartment and waiting for Tommy.  

Laurel climbs into her new black Toyota Camry, pursing her lips as she starts the car and drums her fingers against the steering wheel, debating her options as she merges into traffic. It has been years since she last visited Queen Manor, understandably, but she wants to see Tommy.

She wants to hear from _him_ that he is fine, but more than hear his voice, Laurel wants to set her eyes on him in person. Even if he’s hurt, Laurel doubts he would mention it to her over the phone. Tommy would play the humor card to keep her from worrying.

Laurel suddenly slams on her brakes, her car coming to an abrupt halt when she realizes she’s outside Queen Manor. She exhales sharply and squares her shoulders before she approaches the gate, offering a small smile when Mike waves her through the gate after blinking at her in barely concealed shock, and then Laurel's parking beside her father's car and rushing inside the Manor, not bothering to knock or wait for any of the staff to direct her.

She knows this house almost as well as she knows the one she grew up in.

She once envisioned a life where she would live here with Oliver as Mrs. Laurel Queen.

“So, two women in leather just dropped in and single-handedly took out _three_ armed kidnappers?”

“That’s what happened,” Oliver defends, and Laurel _knows_ that tone. It’s the same one he’s always used with her father because her father _never_ approved of Oliver Queen. And, as much as he liked playing the bad boy, Oliver’s always wanted to impress Quentin Lance. He's always wanted her father to see the man he really is, the one Laurel always saw.

Laurel also doesn’t know why her father is fighting him on this.

Her father’s smart enough to know _she’s_ the one that called in the Birds of Prey.

And it’s not about protecting Sara, about protecting Helena and Felicity. Star City is aware of the Birds of Prey.

Walter’s tone is calm and soothing when he looks at Oliver. “We believe you, son,” He assures, and the entire room ignores the way Oliver stiffens when his stepfather calls him _son._ “The Birds of Prey are well-known here in Star City,” Walter says.

Oliver’s brows furrow and he’s wearing that confused puppy expression she used to love when he asks, “The Birds of Prey?”

Laurel chooses that moment to storm into the familiar parlor, her eyes scanning the room: Moira and Walter are sitting on one sofa while Oliver and Tommy sit on the other, Thea sandwiched between them, all five of them facing her father while his partner, Detective Hilton, stands near the window looking out onto the grounds.

“Laurel, dear,” Moira says, drawing everyone’s attention to her. Her tone is as warm as it had been back when Laurel was dating Oliver; back when everyone thought that Laurel would be the next Mrs. Queen. Unlike Thea, who was angry and and hurting and lonely after the loss of her father and Oliver, Moira has never blamed Laurel for distancing herself from what remained of the Queen family following the _scandal_ of the Queen’s Gambit.

Tommy’s face is tired and drawn when he turns to look at Laurel, and Laurel didn’t know there were tears in her eyes until one carves a path down her cheek because he looks horrible and he looks wonderful. “Laurel,” Tommy says and in the next moment, he’s up and out of his seat, walking towards her. “Laurel, hey, hey,” He soothes, reaching up to wipe her tears away, “I’m fine, I promise.”

Laurel ignores him and runs her hands over his arms and chest, looking for any kind of injury, not believing him for one _moment_ when he says that he’s fine. “Are you sure?” Laurel demands as she continues to look him over worriedly, mouth curved into a frown, “You’re okay? They didn’t hurt you?”

“Hey, _listen to me_ ,” Tommy catches her hands and pulls her forward, holding her in his arms. “I’m _fine_ ,” He vows.

Laurel lets out a shaky exhale as she tightens her hold on Tommy, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, something spicy that soothes her frazzled nerves and reminds her of home. “I heard the gunshots on my way back to the office,” Laurel explains, burying her face in his chest, not caring that she’s probably ruining his ridiculously expensive shirt with her tears and ruined make-up. “I saw them throw you in the back of the van and there was _nothing I could do_ ,” She despairs.

“Laurel, you didn’t do _nothing_ ,” Tommy chuckles under his breath, loud enough for only her to hear. He’s talking about her calling the SCPD; about her calling in the Birds of Prey. “You did everything you could,” He soothes, and she relaxes a little more in his arms. “We’re fine, Laurel,” He repeats because she needs him to, “ _Both_ of us.”

Laurel stills and steps back, Tommy's hands rubbing her arm comfortingly as she turns to look the right, looking at Oliver. He's sitting quietly on the couch and his posture is incredibly stiff, but he meets her gaze and stares right back at her, something unreadable in his face, but Laurel refuses to move out of Tommy's hold completely.

She, _they_ , have nothing to feel sorry for.

She doesn't need Oliver's permission to date Tommy, and they don't need his _blessing_.

“I... I'm glad you're okay, Oliver,” Laurel says honestly, and he offers her a stiff smile in response.

“Yeah...” Detective Lance smiles, but it's a sharp brittle thing when he looks back at Oliver, “It's funny, isn't it? One day back and already somebody is gunning for you,” He mocks, his voice taking on a much darker tone when he adds, “Aren't you popular?”

“ _Dad_ ,” Laurel warns, her tone matching his as she steps forward.

Thea’s expression hardens. “Were you able to identify the _psychos_ that kidnapped Oliver and Tommy?” Thea demands, her eyes blazing as she turns her attention from her brother to Detective Lance.

It’s clear the teenager (and, _wow_ , when did the girl she knew grow into the refined young woman in designer clothes that sits before her?) has named herself Oliver’s protector, the way her brother was once hers. Before the Queen’s Gambit, Oliver was the center of Thea’s entire world, he'd been her adored big brother, and in his absence, Tommy did his best to fill the void as best as he could, cementing Thea’s devotion to Tommy.

“Scrubbed identities, untraceable weapons,” Hilton supplies when it’s clear Lance _won’t_ , “These were pros.”

Lance sighs and his gaze darts back and forth between Moira and Oliver. “Yeah, they probably figured you’d pay a King’s ransom to get your boy back.” His eyes narrow, one side of his mouth curving into a shark-like smirk when he adds, “Or a _Queen’s_ ransom, as it were…”

Moira had turned her gaze away from Lance, exasperated with his attitude, but now she turns her laser-like focus back on the detective. “I don’t find your tone appropriate, detective,” She warns, “Of course, I would do _anything_ to keep _my child_ safe.” _A _nd that includes safe from you__ , Moira doesn't add, but the occupants of the room hear it regardless.

Walter stands then, drawing attention to himself. “I’m sure if Oliver or Thomas think of anything further, they will be in touch,” He looks between the two detectives before sharing a look with Raisa, who had been standing off to the side, gesturing for her to lead the two men out before he says, “Thank you, gentleman, for coming.”

Offering a sarcastic grin, Lance reaches down and grabs his bag, putting away his notepad as he stands from his chair. “Your luck never seems to run out, does it?” He asks when he turns to Oliver, who has risen from the couch.

Then without another word, Lance finally turns, following his partner and Raisa out of the room, pausing long enough to pat Tommy roughly on the shoulder.

Tommy stiffens at the touch, and Laurel snorts in amusement.

Tommy's afraid of her father, and it never fails to amuse her.

The tension in the room is palpable and then Tommy breaks it in pure Tommy-fashion, breaking out his charming grin when he looks down at Laurel. “You know, I’m kinda hungry. They kidnapped us before Ollie and I could find models to eat sushi off of,” Laurel’s eyebrow arches high on her forehead at that, amused because he may be a monogamous playboy but he’s still a playboy. “Now I'm thinking… mm, Italian,” He suggests, “You know, that place Helena recommends, Russo’s?”

Laurel’s face softens, and she says, “Well, _I_ was thinking I could call work and take the rest of the day, saying that you were _rattled,_ and I didn’t want to leave you alone.” She watches as Tommy's mouth slowly curves into a dirty, dirty smirk, his blue eyes dancing even before she adds, “And we could go home and turn off our phones and we could have _banana pancakes._ ”

Tommy’s face softens at the mention of banana pancakes and he nods, squeezing the arm that rests around her waist before he leans in to kiss her forehead, murmuring, “Let me just call Lydia first,” He says and he looks like he'd rather call _Malcolm_ than call Lydia.

Lydia Hughes is Tommy's personal assistant. Lydia used to work for Max Fuller but Tommy hired the woman seven-months ago when things began to pick up for the Rebecca Merlyn Foundation ( _the earthquake destroyed his mother’s free clinic in the Glades, and after a brief mourning period where he confided that it felt like losing her all over again, Tommy started the Rebecca Merlyn Foundation to help the less fortunate_ ) and she has Tommy-wrangling down to an  _art_.

“All right, okay,” Laurel says, stretching up to kiss his cheek, and then her boyfriend finally detaches himself from her to call his assistant.

“Be _nice_ ,” Tommy calls before he’s out of sight and it’s only then that Laurel realizes what he’s done, and she turns around and finds that Moira and Walter and Thea have left as well, leaving her alone with Oliver. He hovers near the fireplace, looking at the family pictures that line the mantle, focused on a picture of his father.

Laurel pauses, twisting her hands together, struggling with what to say, wondering if she should even say anything, and she cannot remember the last time she felt nervous in front of _Oliver Queen_. “I’m sorry,” Laurel blurts, gathering her strength.

His head swivels toward her.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Laurel explains with a wince when she remembers the way she snarled _I’d hoped you’d rot in hell a whole lot longer than five years_ outside the District Attorney’s Office. “That... that was wrong of me,” She finishes.

Oliver shakes his head faintly. “Laurel, you have every right to be angry with me,” He assures.

“Yeah…” Laurel drops her gaze to the floor and a few beats pass in silence, but then her gaze drifts back up to Oliver. “The thing is, it's hard being angry with someone who's not there. I've had this fire, this anger, inside me all these years, but then I also had to grieve, but I couldn't do that because I was _so_ angry, but I couldn't really be angry either because you were gone.” Laurel exhales, eyes heavy with tears, but she doesn't let them fall. “But when I saw you today, you weren't gone anymore, you were _right_ there, and it was the first time I had an outlet, the first time I could just feel angry. But that doesn’t make what I said okay.”

 _“You got Sara back, Laur,”_ Tommy told her the night before, _“You got your miracle. Oliver’s family is entitled to the same.”_

“Tommy told me that we have too many years between us to leave things the way they are,” Laurel stares at him, a small smile turning up one side of her mouth, “And he’s right. I… I don’t want us to be on bad terms. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, because of Tommy, but… I’m not quite ready to forgive you, okay?” Laurel offers him a real smile then, “You broke my heart, Oliver Queen.”

“I _am_ sorry for that, Laurel,” Oliver says.

Laurel huffs, “You apologized already, Ollie.”

“And it’ll never be enough,” Oliver says, his face clouded over, but then he clears his throat and says, “I’m happy for you and Tommy; that the two of you found each other.” He means it. He’s glad that Laurel has found someone that can openly love and treasure her while Oliver embarks on a journey to honor his father’s dying wish.

“Me too,” Laurel says, that loving smile he remembers softening her features.

“And, about Sara…” Oliver clears his throat, looking for the words, “I just want you to know that if I could trade places with her, I would,” He vows. He remembers the way Sara had cried his name, reaching for his hand that was just out of reach, both times, as she was pulled into the sea.

Laurel pauses and blinks in silence, shocked, then her eyes widen. “You don’t know…” There’s an edge to her voice now, a mixture of confusion and sympathy and a note of something else that he can’t name, but before he can ask what he doesn’t know, Laurel continues, providing the answer and tilting his world on its axis, “Oliver, Sara’s _alive_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed my muse. : )


	10. "You're cute." (Feb. 18, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** Felicity _Smoak continues her investigation into Tempest; Walter Steele tries to discourage her. It doesn’t work._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:** [[FLASHBACK]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/233818748_zpsbmasumhk.jpg.html) [[PRESENT]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/233770960_zpslnikya33.jpg.html)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

After Walter asks her to discreetly investigate the details of the transaction made by his wife using company funds, Felicity throws herself into her investigation. She hates mysteries. They bug her, and they need to be solved, and she’s _bored_ living the life of a normal IT-Girl. This is the most interesting thing to happen to her since she started working at Queen Consolidated.

She hacks every database she can think of, utilizing skills she hasn’t used since Cooper and MIT. She’s a little rusty at first, but it’s like riding a bike, and before long she realizes that, despite her best attempts not to, she’s stumbled into some Shakespearean drama between her boss and his new wife.

It doesn’t matter how much she searches. Nothing changes the fact that the company Mrs. Queen (Mrs. Steele? Queen-Steele?) invested in doesn’t exist.

There was no investment.

Instead, Moira Queen used the money to set up an offshore LLC.

It’s called Tempest which is, you know, a little dark considering what happened to the Queen’s Gambit.

Felicity brought her findings to Walter weeks ago…

_(_

_“The company that Mrs. Queen—Mrs. Steele? Queen-Steele?”[Felicity](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/233818748_zpsbmasumhk.jpg.html) babbles, brows furrowed, unsure of the proper way to address her boss’s wife. Walter clears his throat, bringing her back to the moment, “Right. The company she invested in doesn’t exist.”_

_Walter frowns, “I don’t understand.”_

_“There was no investment,” Felicity’s heart breaks when she sees the confusion and sorrow that seeps into his warm brown eyes at the thought that his wife has lied to him and she quickly drops a folder on his desk with a pleasant smile, “The money was used to set-up an offshore LLC called Tempest.”_

_He sits back in his own chair, studying her expression. “I don’t recall that name being under the Queen Consolidated banner,” Walter ponders as he leans forward to pick up the folder. It contains at least ten pages, each one undoubtedly full of carefully collected evidence because Felicity Smoak is nothing if not thorough. There’s a reason he reached out to her, after all._

_“That’s because it’s not,” Felicity pushes her glasses further up her nose because she only started wearing them again since she left MIT, and after wearing contacts since she was fifteen she’s still not entirely used to the added weight on her face. “There’s nothing registered with the secretary of state, no federal tax records, no patient applications filed,” She trails off when she sees Walter’s arched eyebrow, but then adds, “But in 2009 Tempest purchased a warehouse here in Starling City.”_

_)_

Felicity’s not sure what he found in the warehouse, but shortly after Walter left Starling City. _“There was a group going to check the company’s factory in Australia. Make sure everything’s on the up and up, a surprise inspection, and Mr. Steele decided to accompany the group at the last minute,”_ his assistant told her when she went looking for Mr. Steele, _“I’m unsure how long he’ll be gone, but if it was urgent, I’d be happy to forward whatever it is to him, Ms. Smoak.”_

Felicity had declined the offer and now, over two weeks later, Walter’s back at Queen Consolidated. “How was your trip to Australia? I’ve always wanted to go _down under_ ,” [Felicity](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/233770960_zpslnikya33.jpg.html) divulges when she walks into his office, and she attempts to imitate an Australian accent with limited success when she says _down under_. “It’s just, I have this thing about kangaroos, more of a phobia,” She babbles, “They wig me out. They look evil, and I’m sure their picture’s up on like, everything everywhere in that country…”

Walter puts down the contract he’d been reading and looks up at Felicity. He's making that face that he makes whenever she says something totally embarrassing, like if he were a less reserved man he'd be laughing at her. “You said you had something important to tell me, Ms. Smoak,” He reminds her gently and he thinks he manages to keep most of his laughter out of his voice.

“Yes, I did… It’s about Tempest,” Walter’s smile falls from his face at the mere mention of Tempest, and he feels discomfort rise to the back of his tongue like bile. “Your wife’s mysterious LLC, the one she diverted company funds to,” Felicity continues as if to jog his memory. As if he needs a reminder of what he’d found in that warehouse.

“I appreciate your diligence on this, Ms. Smoak, but, uh, it was a simple misunderstanding between my wife and I.” Moira’s come clean to him about the truth about the warehouse and Tempest.  He has to blink away a sudden well of tears at the thought of what happened to both Robert and Oliver, who had been little more than a boy when the Queen's Gambit was lost at sea, but Walter’s sworn to protect his wife and Thea.

“Everything’s been resolved,” Walter assures.

“No,” Felicity protests, loudly, impossibly blue eyes narrowed, “See it hasn’t. There was something about the money transfer that felt hinky to me. The money your wife withdrew from the company, I wasn’t the only one who tracked it. She was being shadowed by another entity and, whoever they were, they were _good_ ,” Her eyebrows hike high on her forehead, “NSA good.”

Walter’s heart leaps into his throat. _Malcolm._

“But, as you know, I’m good too,” Felicity continues, unaware of the way his heart is trying to escape his chest. “So, even though they left almost no trace of their presence in our system, I did manage to find one thing. Well, one image,” She corrects as she holds out a sheet of paper, the seal from Moira’s notebook printed on the crisp page. “Does that symbol mean something to you, sir,” Felicity asks.

Walter holds her gaze and then he’s pushing to his feet, absently fixing his jacket and tie as he rounds the desk, moving to loom over Felicity. “No, what means something to me,” sneers Walter, “Is one of my employees prying into my wife’s private business without authorization.” He’s being purposely nasty. He’s fond of Ms. Smoak, but she needs to let this go.

Not just for her safety, but for everyone's.

“And should it happen again,” He continues, “I shall have you suspended. Are we clear, Ms. Smoak?”

She manages a brisk nod and an even brisker tone. “Yes, of course, have a good day, sir,” Felicity manages to force out, and then she’s leaving his office, the folder still in hand. Walter’s assured her that it was all a misunderstanding, that he’s talked it over with Moira and it’s all resolved, but Felicity knows that could not be more wrong. British people, apparently, make terrible liars.

She has no intention of letting this go.

Still, Felicity _likes_ Walter, wants to believe he’s a good man, so later that night after she’s packed up to go home ( _hours after everyone else, it so happens, thanks to her so-called supervisor. Felicity’s worked here for over a year and it’s still laughable to her that Dick the Dick oversees the IT-Department_ ) she makes her way back to his office.

Her heels click-clack against the marble floors as she exits the executive elevator, her knuckles white as she grips the folder with the picture of the mysterious image, and she hesitates when she reaches Walter’s desk. “Just do it, Smoak,” Felicity encourages, then she drops the folder on her boss’ desk and intends to leave, but she pauses when she sees a picture of the former CEO of Queen Consolidated, Robert Queen.

It’s clear that Walter keeps the picture on his desk in memory of his late best friend, but what draws her attention is the young man standing beside Robert. Oliver Queen, no older than twenty and sporting an utterly terrible haircut, stares up at her from the photo, his mouth curved into a panty-dropping smirk ( _the kind that she once mocked alongside Cooper_ ) that’s unbearably attractive.

“You’re cute. It’s too bad you’re, you know, _dead_ ,” Felicity muses, leaning against the desk to lean in for a closer look, and it’s just her luck that the first man she finds unbearably attractive since she lost her college boyfriend is also dead. Her eyes widen when her brain catches up with her thoughts, and she winces, babbling full steam ahead when she says, “Which is obviously a lot worse for you than it is for me,” a long-suffering sigh tumbles from her fuchsia mouth as she saunters out of the office, “I really need to learn to stop talking to myself.”

Unbeknownst to Felicity, Oliver Queen is hidden from view, pressed up against the wall in the conference room, listening to her babble. His mouth curves into its first smile in a very, very long time and he watches her until she’s out of sight, but then Maseo’s talking in his ear, saying, _“Oliver, you need to get out of there, now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed my muse : )


	11. "We all have to keep secrets." (Apr. 25, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _Felicity Smoak's still looking into Tempest. Moira's not pleased._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[MOIRA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228753083_zpstuj9zokv.jpg.html) [[MOIRA #2]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/234956059_zpsgzjhvjqa.jpg.html) [[FELICITY]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/232984776_zpschzgqc8q.jpg.html)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

[Moira](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228753083_zpstuj9zokv.jpg.html) feels the ever-present pressure in her chest tighten as the executive elevator brings her from her husband's office down to the nineteenth floor of Queen Consolidated. Walter, bless him, has helped her move to the remains of the Queen's Gambit to a second location ever since she told him the truth about everything. The truth about Robert and the Queen's Gambit and Malcolm Merlyn and the Undertaking.

_(_

_“You lied to me, Moira.”_

_“Walter…”[Moira](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/234956059_zpsgzjhvjqa.jpg.html) murmurs as she climbs to her feet, hand outstretched like she means to reach for him, but her husband’s flinch has her rooted in place. “I told you…” She trails off slowly, pausing. _

_“You told me that the variance was from an investment in a friend’s failed start-up, but that was a lie. You embezzled money from the company, you salvaged the Queen’s Gambit,” Each accusation feels like a bullet to her heart, but hearing that he’s found the remains of the Queen’s Gambit leaves her reeling. If Walter’s found the Queen’s Gambit, he knows the yacht was sabotaged. “Why, Moira,” Walter asks, looking truly baffled, “What was it all for?”_

_“For leverage,” Moira answers honestly because she doesn't have it in her to lie anymore. She's been alone in her fear and fury for so long, she needs to confide in someone. It might as well be her husband._

_Mere days before he'd boarded the Queen's Gambit, Robert came to her with the truth about Malcolm's intentions for the Glades. She begged him to say no, and for the first time in years he listened, Robert_ heard _her. She'd known, oh how she'd known, the moment the Queen's Gambit was presumed lost at sea that it hadn't been a simple accident. Malcolm Merlyn intended to kill Robert._

_Walter's rarely ever since his wife as anything other than calm and collected and the sheer fear he sees staring back at him now frightens him more than he wants to admit. “Against whom?” Walter asks but it's as if she doesn't hear him, drowning in her thoughts and some distant memory. “Against whom,” He repeats, demands, his voice firmer this time._

_“Someone who will be very angry if they discover you’ve been looking into this,” Moira snaps, scared, and then she’s standing before her husband and cupping his face between her hands. “You have to let this go, Walter,” She pleads, and he looks like he’s going to fight her, to refuse, so she stretches up to press a chaste kiss to his lips and the taste of salt fills her mouth. It’s only then she realizes she’s been crying. “Please, Walter, please. You must forget about what you've learned. We can forget all of it and go back to the way things were.”_

_“I don’t know if I can,” Walter says honestly, removing her hands from his face. “Robert was my oldest friend, Moira. Do you take me for a man who wouldn’t avenge his best friend’s murder?”_

_“And do you take me for a woman who wouldn’t avenge her_ son’s _murder?” Moira’s words are sharper than any knife and Walter’s brows furrow in the middle of his forehead and he listens. “Robert was the intended target, but Oliver… Oliver wasn’t even supposed to be on that damn yacht. But he was, Walter._ He _took my beautiful boy from me and I want nothing more than to burn his entire world to ashes,” She snarls, bloodthirsty, “But I must protect Thea. She's already lost her father and her brother, she can't lose me too. I have to protect my daughter, Walter.”_

_Walter’s gaze softens. “Our daughter,” He corrects and it has always warmed Moira’s heart (the one she’s long believed to be black and cold) to see the way Walter loves Thea, wholly and unconditionally. “You’re not alone in this, Moira. None of it. You haven’t been since you married me,” Walter says, running his finger over her wedding ring, “Let me help you protect our family. But you must tell me everything,” He adds, then pauses before he asks, “Who sabotaged the Queen’s Gambit?”_

_Moira’s silent for several moments, then, “Malcolm Merlyn.”_

_)_

For the first time since she lost Robert and Oliver, Moira doesn't feel alone. Loving Walter has long since been her salvation as she tried so hard to convince herself that she’s not like Malcolm, because Walter is good and decent and would never be able to love her if she were truly a monster, and she knows now that the two of them will do everything they can to protect Thea.

There’s just one loose end she must deal with.

And that loose end is Felicity Smoak.

Initially, Walter asked his wife to let him be the one to handle Felicity Smoak. As her employer, Walter had been sure him issuing the order would be enough to get Ms. Smoak to stand down, but he'd been wrong. Felicity Smoak is still looking into Tempest. If it didn't put herself and her loved ones in danger, Moira thinks she would be impressed by the young woman's gumption.

“Mrs. Queen… Steele,” [Felicity](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/232984776_zpschzgqc8q.jpg.html) practically squeaks as she climbs to her feet, smoothing a hand over her skirt before she looks up at Moira, pushing her glasses further up her nose because even after a year she’s still not used to the added weight on her face. “Mrs. Queen-Steele? Do you hyphenate? You seem like a woman who would hyphenate,” She babbles.

Moira’s keen eyes dance over the colorful office before settling on Felicity. “Ms. Smoak,” She says with a kind of predatory focus that has barbed wire wrapping itself around Felicity’s rapidly beating heart, “We need to talk.”

Felicity blinks, chewing her bottom lip, “Really?” She asks, visibly fidgeting, “About what?”

Moira simply stares at her, because Moira Queen is a lot of things, but _stupid_ is not one of them. “Do not play stupid with me, Ms. Smoak,” Moira scolds as her brows furrow in scrutiny, a scrutiny that makes Felicity feel like a piece of gum on the bottom of the older woman’s incredibly expensive shoes. “We need to talk about Tempest,” She continues, “You know what that is, do you not?”

Ten seconds tick by and it looks like the young woman is going to lie to her, but in the end, honesty wins out. “It’s an offshore LLC, one you used company funds to set up, which I found interesting because the name Tempest isn’t under the Queen Consolidated banner...” Felicity trails off when she sees Moira’s eyes narrow, but she stiffens her back and tilts her chin in her impossibly stubborn way when she adds, “It hasn't been used since you used it to purchase a warehouse here in Starling City in 2009.”

“I see,” Moira nods and takes a step towards her, sounding displeased, “Do you know what _was_ being kept in that warehouse?”

Felicity doesn’t react to the other woman’s words, but she’s not surprised to hear she moved the contents of the warehouse. Clearly, Moira doesn’t want anyone to know what she’s been hiding. “No,” Felicity clears her throat, then continues, “When I mentioned it to Mr. Steele, he said that he’d talked to you and that everything had been a misunderstanding, but I could tell by his face he was lying. British people are really, really bad liars.”

“Yes, they are,” Moira agrees, her voice softening, and Felicity does a double take at the pure affection she can hear lacing the other woman’s voice. It’s abundantly clear that she loves her husband. “I was hoping that you would listen when my husband _ordered_ you to bring your search to an end, but then I found this one day when I came to meet him for lunch.” She reaches into her pocket to retrieve a piece of paper, the seal from her copy of The List printed on the folded page. “Now, I must ask,” She takes another step forward, “Do you know what this image means?”

“No,” Felicity tilts her chin in that impossibly brave way she has when she admits, “I haven’t figured it out.”

 _Yet_.

Moira relaxes minutely upon hearing that admission, but still, “I believe you, Ms. Smoak, but I understand now why Walter has such a high appraisal of your capabilities. You are incredibly resourceful,” She says, and it almost sounds like praise. “What are you going to do with the information you’ve found, Ms. Smoak?”

Felicity falters before she finds herself admitting, “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Moira practically sneers, arms crossed loosely over her chest, “ _Nothing_. You’re going to do nothing.”

“Mrs. Queen—"

“You’re meddling in things that you have no right to meddle in and, if you won’t keep your nose out of it for _my_ sake, you should do it for your own,” Moira threatens without having to voice a threat, but Felicity’s always been pretty good at reading between the lines. Moira Queen is terrifying, a real-life devil that wears Prada. Moira turns then, the crisp sound of her heels echoing on the marble floors as she leaves the office, but not without delivering a parting blow. “We _all_ have to keep secrets, Ms. Smoak,” She warns.

Felicity watches the woman leave and then she collapses into her chair with a huff, slumping back against the headrest as she weighs her options, but she already knows what she’s going to do.

She has no intention of letting this go, _ever_.

A week later she receives an email from Human Resources, telling her that her services are no longer required at Queen Consolidated.

Felicity accepts their severance package and signs an NDA, knowing that in business it's always better to say you quit rather than admit you were fired, even when you didn't do anything wrong. Still, red-hot anger burns like acid in her throat when she signs her name to the NDA.

She refuses to quit her search for the truth, though, because she can't help but think that Moira Queen is using her offshore LLC for evil, dubious plots, but then the city falls apart.

Literally.

An earthquake destroys the Glades, killing thousands, and Felicity knows it will be months if not years before the city recovers. Her search into Tempest falls to the back burner because she needs to find a new place to live after her apartment building was damaged in the earthquake and, while she received a substantial severance package from Queen Consolidated, she knows it won't last forever.

In the end, Felicity decides to use the money she received to start her own software firm, which she eventually decides to name Smoak Tech, and reinvents herself like she had after Cooper and MIT. She overhauls her entire wardrobe, replacing her skirts and kitten heels with sexy dresses and pumps because everyone underestimates a pretty blonde in a short skirt.

And if she leaves an embedded account alert on Tempest?

Well, it’s not Felicity’s fault Moira Queen thinks she’s a wilting flower.

Someday, when the matriarch accesses the account again, she’ll see Felicity's thorns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed my muse !


	12. "Sara Lance died on that boat." (Aug. 26, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _The Huntress has met the Canary, but now it's time for Helena to meet Sara._
> 
> Takes place after **Ch 4** : ["Stay out of my way, Birdie." (Aug. 15, 2011)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27674049)
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[HELENA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228757593_zps6l5sln7i.jpg.html) [[SARA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/236337668_zpsasmmxpgo.jpg.html)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

She takes a deep breath. “Hello, Michael,” [Helena](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228757593_zps6l5sln7i.jpg.html) whispers and her voice breaks on the last syllable. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve come to visit,” Her brows furrow and then she adds, “I’m sorry about that, _Cuore mio_.”

She exhales and crouches, then, with a trembling hand, she reaches out to trace the letters of his name, her other hand moving to absently fiddle with the delicate cross that hangs around her neck. It was the last gift Michael gave her, and now she wears it as a reminder of why she’s doing this, but lately, it has started to feel more like a noose tightening around her neck.

“I'm close, Michael, I'm  _so_ close to putting a stop to all of it,” Helena rasps, kissing the tips of her fingers before she presses her hand to his headstone.

There isn’t a sound to make her presence known, only the prickle of her skin making Helena sense that she’s no longer alone, but she forces herself not to react, reaching instead for her gun, and then she turns. Her assailant has her disarmed in quick, precise movements, but then Helena draws in a sharp breath when she recognizes the blonde standing before her.

Even with her natural, darker blonde hair and the absence of her mask, Helena knows it's the Canary.

She sees it in the dimpled chin, the freckled skin, and the blue eyes that are like hooks for the soul.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my way, Birdie,” Helena scowls, crossing her arms over her chest.

[Sara](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/236337668_zpsasmmxpgo.jpg.html)’s eyes move to the headstone, her mouth pulling into a frown when she asks, “Who was he?”

“ _That_ is none of your business,” Helena snarls, moving to march past the blonde. She doesn’t have a contingency or even a witty parting line ready. She’s unprepared, and it leaves her feeling off-kilter. “Hey,” She warns when the blonde reaches for her forearm, “Get. Your hands. _Off_ me.”

Sara instantly pulls back, hands spread at hip-height, making herself as harmless as a woman like her can ever be. Helena appreciates the gesture even while it pisses her off, then the blonde straightens and asks, “Who was he?” Her voice is softer this time and, it might just be her, but Helena thinks the Canary almost sounds _concerned_.

Helena blinks at her, obviously a bit taken back even if Sara thinks she might see a hint of something akin to _longing_ hiding in the depths of her gaze. “Michael, he was my fiancé,” Helena answers truthfully, her eyes widening because she cannot remember the last time she told someone about Michael. “He, he died,” She rasps, reaching up to fiddle with the cross once more as she looks back at his headstone, “Losing him is what made me the Huntress. Because when you love someone as much as I loved him, with all your heart, then you can’t turn that emotion off when they’re _taken_ from you. You still feel things just as deeply but if, if it can’t be love that you feel, then it becomes _hate_.”

Sara’s head tips to the side, her blonde braid falling over her shoulder. “Hate for who,” She asks, demands, her voice like steel, and suddenly she’s the Canary, _the woman in black_ that has been attacking attackers, the woman who declared that _no woman should ever suffer at the hands of men._

“My father,” Helena blurts, the words tumbling freely from her mouth because she’s lived alone in her hate and her anger for so long, it’s _freeing_ to be honest. “He’s a monster who doesn’t care who he hurts to keep his money and power and I want it to _stop_.” Her blue eyes fill with tears and then she releases a ragged breath, meeting the blonde’s gaze, “I started talking to the FBI. I started collecting evidence against my father and his enforcers, enough to send them all to prison for the rest of their lives. I had all the information on a laptop, but they must have found it. My father must have thought the laptop belonged to Michael, but he didn’t know, I never told him, and my father had Michael _murdered_ ,” Helena whispers.

“You’ve been through a crucible and it changed you,” Sara’s voice goes softer, quiet in a way that doesn’t suit the Canary, but maybe it suits the woman under the mask, “How could it not?” Her brow furrows and she seems to debate with herself, then says, apropos of nothing, “I want to show you something.” Helena hesitates when the blonde gestures for her to follow, but she does, and her confusion doubles when the Canary leads her several rows over to another headstone.

“Michael was your crucible,” Sara explains, “This was mine.”

_Sara Lance._

_1987-2007_

Helena’s brows furrow and she knows the name is familiar, but she cannot remember where she’s heard it before ( _she’ll remember later, Channel 7 News reporting on the scandal of Oliver Queen being lost at sea while screwing his girlfriend’s sister_ ) and reaches up, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. “Who was she?” She asks.

Sara exhales forcefully and crouches, reaching out to trace the letters of her name, then she admits, “Someone I knew a long time ago. She had a crush on a boy, and the thing was, he was selfish and thoughtless and reckless, but she _loved_ those things about him because she was those things too, but then the boy started dating her sister. _Perfect_ , gorgeous Laurel, who thought she could _save_ the boy, and her sister was jealous.” It takes Helena by surprise when the blonde chuckles mirthlessly, “So, when the boy started paying attention to _her_ , she confused lust for love, so tired of living in her sister’s shadow, and she started sleeping with him.” Sara’s hands hang loosely at her side, “I started sleeping with my _sister’s_ boyfriend.”

Helena’s eyes widen, and she looks between the blonde and the headstone, putting the pieces together, and it’s on the tip of her tongue to point out that the Canary looks good for a dead woman, but she doesn’t want to disrupt the moment they’ve created here void of masks. It's the most honest moment she's shared with _anyone_ in a long, long time.

“I knew it would hurt her, I just didn’t care,” Sara rasps, throat clogged, and Helena reaches out, a gamble she hasn’t taken in years now, but something’s telling her it might just be time to try again. “I was petty, and I wanted to get something Laurel didn’t, just once… even if it was something as stupid as a boy’s attention, and I hurt… I hurt my family. I got on the Queen’s Gambit with Oliver and…” Sara trails off.

It's awkward, but Helena laces her fingers through Sara's and holds on tight.

“Those four years changed me,” when she continues her voice is strong once more. “I've spent the past four years in the darkness and I looked into the eyes of the devil and I gave him my soul. The woman, the _girl_ , that I was is gone. Sara Lance _died_ on that boat,” Impossibly blue eyes that are like hooks for the soul bore into Helena, “Just like the woman you used to be, died with Michael.”

Helena stills and closes her eyes for a moment before she sucks in a slow, deep breath because she’s finally found someone who understands; someone that has been in pain for so long that it just feels normal now.

“We're both ghosts, Helena,” Sara insists.

“No,” Helena rasps, “I survived my crucible."

It's not the first time she's said that but it's the first time she _believes_ it.

Then Helena adds, squeezing Sara's hand, “And you survived yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't the installment I had planned on posting next, but I have missed Helena and Sara. Next installment features all the birds of prey and a few new characters I look forward to introducing. Reviews feed my muse : )


	13. "The big fat spread." (Sept. 22, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _You need to invest if you want to better the world. The Birds of Prey attend a charity gala and meet Ray Palmer’s fiancée, Anna Loring._
> 
> **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
> **OUTFITS:**[[HELENA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/232965727_zpsfy8vhflo.jpg) [[LYDIA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/233131449_zpsp6hjfiqg.jpg.html) [[FELICITY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228779764_zpsjsiqnc1r.jpg) [[MOIRA]](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228819577_zpsxt7qyomx.jpg.html) [[SARA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/232145005_zps3nnhkswj.jpg) [[LAUREL]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228780127_zpsqwibobb0.jpg) [[ANNA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/231031625_zpsevlaz2qt.jpg)

[Helena](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/232965727_zpsfy8vhflo.jpg) hates charity galas. Not because she doesn’t think they’re a worthy cause — since putting an arrow in her father’s chest, she’s dedicated her life to helping the city her father failed long before an earthquake tore it in half, but because it’s a constant merry-go-round of fake smiles and hand-shaking with people more concerned with their egos than the charity they've gathered to support.

But, as the CEO of Bertinelli Construction, the company that won the bid to build low-income housing in what remains of the East Glades, Helena knows that she needs to pay her dues. Even if she’d much rather be patrolling the streets of Star City, crossbow in hand, attacking attackers.

“And that over there talking to [Moira Queen](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/228819577_zpsxt7qyomx.jpg.html) and Walter Steele,” [Lydia](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/babblekween/media/233131449_zpsp6hjfiqg.jpg.html) Hughes says as she points out people of influence to Felicity, gesturing with her champagne flute, “Is Justin Claybourne.” Lydia's Tommy Merlyn’s personal assistant and makes it her job to know everything about everyone. Helena’s fully convinced that, someday, the woman will accidentally take over the world.

[Felicity](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228779764_zpsjsiqnc1r.jpg) blinks, confused, “Who?”

Lydia releases a long-suffering sigh and kind of looks like she wants to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration, but all she does is shake her head, muttering, “You’re absolutely hopeless.” Felicity’s eyes narrow in mock anger but Lydia merely smiles, unflappable, and goes on to explain, “Justin Claybourne is the CEO of Claybourne Pharmaceuticals. He and his wife got divorced there a couple of years back and it was a scandal, not that they got divorced, but that his ex-wife let it slip that he apparently has an illegitimate son…”

Helena tunes out the rest of Lydia’s chatter and casts her eyes around the room, searching for where the third member of their team may have wandered off to when she spots [Laurel](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228780127_zpsqwibobb0.jpg). In a backless black gown, the lawyer is the very picture of sophistication, but what catches Helena’s attention is the way Tommy’s fingers drum down Laurel’s back as the two of them sway on the dance floor, both bright-eyed and smiling.

“Seeing how happy the two of them are…” [Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/232145005_zps3nnhkswj.jpg) muses, appearing at Helena’s side, handing the brunette a flute of champagne before she takes a sip from her tumbler of bourbon, pondering, “It almost makes you consider putting yourself out there again, doesn’t it?”

Sara’s expression is soft and downright _longing_ as she watches Laurel and Tommy, her free hand drifting up to fiddle with the canary crystal necklace that hangs delicately around her neck. Nyssa gifted the set to her beloved on Sara’s last birthday. Sara misses Nyssa, Helena knows, but Sara’s heart is torn between her ability to kill and her desire to show mercy and there’s no place for someone so conflicted within the League of Assassins and Nyssa is Heir to the Demon.

Nyssa swore an oath and there’s no way her father would ever release her from the League, even if that was something that the warrior desired, and now the two lovers live on stolen moments whenever they can. Nyssa visits Star City as often as she can and, when she can’t, Sara sometimes meets her halfway.

Sara claims it’s better than nothing, but Helena’s not sure.

“No,” Helena answers with a shake of her head because she still remembers the way it nearly destroyed her when she lost Michael. There are still days she thinks it did. “With the lives that we lead,” She adds, “Even the thought of opening up to someone new seems like an invitation for more pain. And I can’t be hurt again, Sara.”

Sara looks like she wants to say something further, but their attention is drawn by Lydia, who is subtly pointing in the direction of a young woman in a hideous pink dress. “That woman in the pink Elie Saab gown? That’s Mayor Altman’s niece, and the woman she’s talking to? Now that one is important. Janice Bowen,” Lydia gossips, “Her son is _Carter_ Bowen. He’s a renowned neurosurgeon and an acclaimed author, apparently God's gift to the world, which _he_ certainly believes.”

Helena hides her amused shark-like smirk behind her champagne flute and follows Felicity and Lydia when they decide to check out the buffet ( _Felicity’s not going to eat anything, she never trusts the buffets at these events, always afraid to have a repeat of the pot brownie fiasco from her time at MIT_ ) and walks side-by-side with Sara.

Sara walks behind everyone else, eyes sweeping the crowd while her free hand hovers over one of the numerous knives she always keeps on her person. She hates the Exchange Building; calls it a death trap, with all of its windows and clear sight lines.

Mayor Altman approaches their group with a pretty brunette woman ( _she looks familiar, likes she’s been featured on Channel 7 News, but Helena cannot remember the woman’s name_ ) and Helena immediately takes stock of the man. “Ms. Bertinelli,” He greets, smoothing a hand down his navy tie, and she can’t help but think he looks like every other politician she’s ever met. “I wasn’t expecting to see _you_ here this evening,” Altman says.

She offers him a bland smile. “Yes,” Helena hums, having heard that all night, because the entire city’s aware of how her family made its fortune, even if it isn’t the sort of thing one talks about in polite company, “It turns out I had an opening in my calendar.” She’s 83% sure Felicity’s the reason for that, and she will have retribution the next time they spar.

“Well,” Altman smiles, “I’m happy you were able to attend. We’ve had quite a turnout,” He notes with pride as his beady eyes sweep over the room filled with Star City’s elite, “It’s nice to see so many people step out to support our city.”

Helena hums and tilts her head thoughtfully. “Except the city never really sees any of these funds because the proceeds go to the big fat spread,” Her tone has a bite to it now and her smile sharpens at the edges when she hears Felicity choke on her champagne. “It’s not about charity; over half the people in this room probably don’t even know what cause they’ve gathered to support tonight,” Helena adds, “It’s about feeding the ego of whichever society hag put off this event.”

The pretty brunette at the mayor’s side, wearing a pretty pale gown that perfectly matches the shade of her nails and her mouth, smiles then, teeth sharp and white. “Actually, this is my party, Ms. Bertinelli,” She pipes up and then she holds out her hand for Helena to shake, “Anna Loring.”

“Pleasure,” She greets, shaking Anna’s hand. Anna Loring, Helena knows, is a board member for Palmer Tech, just like she knows the woman is the fiancée of Ray Palmer. She’s always come across as the typical trophy wife; happy to support her future husband in any way she can while she campaigns endlessly for the charities she’s chosen to support, but now Helena suspects that there’s more to Anna Loring than meets the eye.

[Anna](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/231031625_zpsevlaz2qt.jpg) smiles, but there’s no humor in it when she says, “And the proceeds will go where they should because I paid for the ‘big fat spread’ myself.” Her own tone has a bit of bite in it now, like Helena’s had a moment ago, and Helena’s opinion of the woman increases further.

“That’s very generous of you,” Felicity notes, looking all the world like she’d rather walk over hot coals than compliment anyone associated with Ray Palmer. It’s been six months since the genius billionaire with the looks of a Disney prince tried to buyout Smoak Tech, and the blonde hacker still holds a grudge against him.

“You have to invest if you want to better the world, Ms. Smoak,” Anna shrugs delicately before she finishes her champagne, handing the empty glass off to a passing waiter before she folds her hands in front of her, mouth curved into a pretty smile. “Now, I have to finish my rounds before I make my speech,” Anna bares her teeth in a ruthless grin that the Demon’s Head himself would have been proud of and says, “But, please, enjoy the big fat spread.”

“Frack,” Felicity sulks after Anna walks away, the mayor at her heels, “I like her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)


	14. "Sara, how are you alive?" (Oct. 12, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:** _Following Laurel’s bombshell that her sister is alive, Oliver reunites with Sara._
> 
> Immediately follows **Ch 2** : [“Nice mask. Why'd you help me?”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27673857) and **Ch 6** : [“Are we friends?”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27713178) and **Ch 9:**[“A Queen’s Ransom.”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12189081/chapters/27823722)
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
> **OUTFITS:** [[SARA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228752653_zpsap4ahbmk.jpg)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Oliver retreats to his bedroom after Laurel leaves with Tommy. Laurel had looked reluctant to leave him after the bombshell she dropped but he’d claimed that he needed some time alone because she’d said— She’d said _Oliver, Sara’s alive_ — Oh, God.

He remembers the way Sara had cried his name, reaching for his hand that was just out of reach, both times, as she was pulled into the sea.

But Sara survived the freighter, just like she survived the Queen’s Gambit.

Oliver reels from the realization that he left her behind, not once, but _twice_.

_OLIVER!_

He squeezes his eyes shut as Sara’s voice, so young and terrified, echoes in the corners of his mind as he rubs the pad of his thumb over his middle and index finger, his agitation plain. Then Oliver stands, slowly, shaky on his feet, shedding himself of his jeans and the sweater he wore that day as he walks into the en suite bathroom attached to his bedroom. Not for the first time since he returned home, he wishes for the freedom to run, to hit and kick and punch, pushing himself to the limit just to see how far he can go.

Oliver raises his blue eyes to the man in the mirror, but his they don’t linger long.

He has no interest in looking at the face of a person he can barely recognize as himself.

The water in the shower warms quickly when he turns it on, and he steps into it, letting the water beat against his back. Hot water isn’t a luxury he’s allowed himself in far too long and he’s indulged several times in the last two days. The grit of the island is long washed away, but there are some things, Oliver knows, that will never truly wash away. Like the stain of blood on his hands or the stain on his soul, the losses, Shado, Slade, Akio, Hong Kong and the horrors that followed in Russia.

Water pounds down on his head and Oliver stands there until he’s shivering, then he reaches out to turn off the water before he wraps a towel tight around his waist. He ventures into his bedroom, leaving the steamy confines of the bathroom, water still dripping down his skin.

His impossibly blue eyes gaze out the window onto the surrounding property. An unfamiliar black Ducati is parked close to the door and his brows furrow in harsh line in the middle of his forehead but, before he can contemplate who the owner is, his attention is drawn to the way the wind has picked up outside. It batters against the windows, making the tree branches whip around.

Oliver frowns, displeased.

A storm is brewing.

After spending the better part of five years on an island, he knows the signs, and he can see just the beginnings of drizzle now.

It’s only a matter of time before water starts pouring down, ugly gray sleet sliding down the glass.

Oliver pulls himself away from the windows and hesitates at the full body mirror, his gaze focusing on his scars and torn flesh. Gone is the vain boy he’d once been. He stares at the scars that litter his body, scars that no one expects to find blemishing the body of Oliver Queen, not even after having spent five years away from Starling— correction, _Star_ City.

He turns away from the mirror and quickly dresses, pulling on sweatpants and a long sleeve Henley that will hide the scars that mar his arms, when there’s a soft, hesitant knock at his door. It’s too soft to belong to his mother, Walter has been giving him space since the disastrous dinner the day he came home, and he doubts his sister would have the tact to knock.

“Raisa, it’s fine,” Oliver calls, “You can come in.”

There’s a pause, then: “It’s not Raisa, Ollie.”

Oliver tenses, his heart nearly beating out of his chest, and his hand shakes ever so slightly as it hovers in midair, extended towards the door. He opens his mouth to answer, to say something, anything, but no words come because _Sara, Sara, Sara._

“Laurel called,” [Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228752653_zpsap4ahbmk.jpg) continues, “Said that you didn’t know I’d made it home too. Figured this was one of those ‘need to see it to believe it’-things.” Silence, then an annoyed groan, “I’m coming in, Ollie, okay?”

Oliver watches as the door slowly swings open, a ragged breath leaving his lips, then his impossibly blue eyes land on the woman standing in front of him. Her blonde hair, darker than he remembers it, is pulled away from her face in a low bun and there are more freckles adorning her forehead and the bridge of her nose, but it’s her, it’s Sara.

“Sara,” Oliver rasps, voice quiet and rough.

She purses her lips, drawing his attention to her pink mouth and dimpled chin, and she seems to struggle with what she wants to say. Eventually, Sara shrugs and says, “So, it’s been a while. How have you been?”

Oliver huffs, his mouth curving into an almost smile, and in the next moment he’s reaching for her and lifting her into his arms. Muscle, where there was none before, is hidden by her black leather jacket, but he can feel it when his arms come around her, sliding over her waist and up her back, and his stubble brushes her cheek before grazing her collarbone when his chin comes to rest at the crook of her neck.

“ _Sara_ ,” Oliver murmurs almost like he can’t believe it and then he blows out a breath, quiet against her skin before he leans back and asks, “Sara, how are you alive?” His head bobs up and down slowly. “I…” He draws inhales a deep, unsteady breath, “I saw you die.”

Sara tenses and takes several steps back, putting distance between the two of them, and then she shrugs before sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Not the first time that’s happened, right?” Sara quips and she almost sounds like the old Sara, the one that lives in his memories, “And I thought you were dead, too.” She whispers a few moments of silence later. “I looked for you, Ollie, after the freighter. I _swear_ ,” and the way Sara says that breaks Oliver’s heart because it sounds like a condemnation and confession rolled all into one, “But you were nowhere to be found.”

“Sara,” Oliver interjects quickly and firmly, and it seems to penetrate Sara’s thoughts.

“You weren’t on Lian Yu,” Sara says firmly, stiffening her back, “Where have you been, Ollie?”

She _knows_ Oliver hadn’t been on the island when she was been rescued by the League. Even half-starving and delirious, Sara _begged_ Nyssa to look for Oliver when the brunette assassin found her off the coast of Lian Yu. When Nyssa found no trace of Oliver, Sara believed he’d died after the fight on the freighter against Slade Wilson. Which leaves the last three years unaccounted for.

It looks like he isn’t going to answer her, but finally: “Everywhere.”

“That’s not an answer, Ollie,” Sara practically snaps, blue eyes narrowed.

“Well, it’s the one you’re getting,” Oliver doesn’t speak for a long time and, when he does, it’s not about his whereabouts for the three years he hadn’t been on the island. “Go home, Sara,” He says.

“Oliver—”

“I’m really happy you’re alive, Sara, but today has been very draining and I need some time to wrap my head around this,” it’s a blatant lie and it’s only because he looks like an animal backed into a corner that Sara backs off because she remembers how defensive she was when she first came home, how much she hated talking about her time away, “I need some time to let it sink it.”

But just because she _remembers_ , doesn’t mean she likes the idea of leaving him alone with his thoughts. “Oliver, you don’t have to lie and pretend with me of all people,” Sara starts, “I know you probably feel like you died on that island, but you didn’t, we both survived and made it home. I get it, Ollie. Probably better than anyone else in this world, I get it and you can talk to me—”

“Just go, Sara,” He interjects again, sounding weary beyond measure.

“Ollie—”

“I said, go!”

“Fine,” Sara says, “Thanks for the chat.” Her mouth quirks into a small smile. “I really am happy you’re alive, Ollie. When you’re ready to let someone in and _come home_ , I’m here.” She pauses at the doorway, looking back at him over her shoulder, “I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll see you around,” He echoes.

His eyes follow her until she’s out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not pleased with this installment, but I was tired of looking at it. Reviews feed my muse : )


	15. "Are you asking me on a date?" (Oct. 7, 2014)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:** _Felicity's usually the one talking in sentence fragments, but this time it's Oliver's turn as he stumbles his way through asking Felicity Smoak on an actual date-date._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[FELICITY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/229145891_zpsislfsilo.jpg) [[THEA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/235912027_zpshp0spvu8.jpg)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

[Felicity](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/229145891_zpsislfsilo.jpg) isn’t surprised to find the foundry empty when enters the Arrow Cave ( _“we don’t call it that,”_ Oliver always insists with a look of pure exasperation aimed at Felicity, but she beams each time and shrugs, _“I do.”_ ) and she immediately moves to place her bag carefully on the workstation.

Firing up the computers, Felicity hacks into Team Arrow’s communication network to ensure their patrol is going well and they’re not in need of assistance, and nearly pouts when she realizes they have this handled. Sara’s out of town for the next couple of days with Nyssa ( _she’s 83% certain they’re in Corto Maltese, but she’s not supposed to know that_ ) which means the Birds of Prey are down a member.

Helena's still doing sweeps, Felicity talking in her ear, but they've been taking in easy.

It’s the closest to a vacation Felicity's ever had, _ever_ , and she’s kind of bored.

She settles in to start running system diagnostics and cannot help but shudder when she thinks about the first time she entered the Arrow Cave. Oliver’s computer set-up had looked like something out of the 80s, and _not_ the good part of the 80s, which led to her offering them to provide them with a better system. Now Felicity drops by every couple of weeks to run system diagnostics to see if any particular part of the system needs upgrading or maintenance.

Team Arrow should really think about recruiting someone for tech support.

Felicity spends the next couple of hours multitasking ( _she runs the system diagnostics and starts fixing the bugs she found in the system before she checks her email and reads Curtis’ increasingly incomprehensible texts that only consist of abbreviations and emojis_ ) when the sound of footsteps on the stairs precedes Team Arrow’s arrival.

“When did we start selling admission to the Arrow Cave,” Roy snarks when he notices Felicity, hanging up his bow, while his girlfriend offers a small wave before heading to the bathroom to change out of her own leather suit.

“We don’t—” Oliver starts, scowling at Roy, but then he admits defeat and points a weary finger at Felicity, asking, “Do you see what you’ve done?”

Felicity tilts her head to the side, brow hiked. “If you have a problem with me calling it the Arrow Cave,” She sniffs, tilting her chin in her impossibly brave way that always has Oliver looking at her with something akin to adoration, “Then find your own damn tech support, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver grins, and it’s an adorable grin, one that somehow makes him impossibly more attractive. “Hey, I had a perfectly functioning set-up before I met you, you know,” He teases and it warms her heart to see that it’s _genuine_. She stills remembers the Oliver she first met two years ago that had to constantly remind himself to engage, to be friendlier, to be something other than the man under the hood.

“That set-up was tragic, Oliver,” Felicity scowls, “It hurt me. In my soul.”

Diggle shares a look with Roy and bites back a smile. John Diggle was the first-person Oliver brought into his crusade, followed by Roy Harper, and then with both her brother and her boyfriend being active members of Team Arrow, there was no keeping Thea away. Felicity knows Oliver tried because Thea will always be his little sister and this is not the life he wanted for her.

“It was pure Hell _—_ and I don’t generally believe in Hell, but for that set-up, I’m willing to make an exception, Oliver _—_ and if your set-up was so _dandy_ then why did I have to come down here and fix it before it could do anything?” Felicity babbles as she slides her purse onto her shoulders, hands moving as she talks, “I mean, _really_.”

“Maybe it was all part of my plan,” Oliver suggests, and he takes a step towards Felicity, the two of them breathing the same air now they’re so close. “Make it seem like I was so hopeless you’d have to stick around,” His smile grows softer along the edges.

“You _are_ damn hopeless, Queen,” Diggle interjects, and he mostly means it.

He has long suspected that Oliver’s feelings for Felicity run bone-deep, just like the hacker’s own feelings for Oliver. But, while his fearless leader has come a long way from the man he'd first met a couple of years ago, when it comes to Felicity, Oliver Queen is as hopeless as ever. Hopelessly, ass-backward in love with Felicity Smoak, and he knows it. He just doesn’t _know_ he knows it.

Diggle has a running bet with Sara on when the two idiots will finally admit it.

“But you know you’re more than welcome here anytime, Felicity,” Diggle adds, smiling at the hacker.

“Yes, you’ve made your recruitment pitch many times, Digg,” Felicity smiles as she turns to Diggle, and everyone rolls their eyes at the way Oliver’s hand immediately moves to hover over the small of her back, not quite touching. “But, as flattered as I am, I could never leave Helena or Sara. They’re only slightly less hopeless than Oliver,” She teases.

“You’re loyal,” Diggle shrugs, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Thea’s heeled boots announce her return as she walks out of the bathroom, her black leather jacket dangling loosely from her fingers. “I hate to break up this lovefest, but I’m going to head out,” [Thea](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/235912027_zpshp0spvu8.jpg) says, “I have to pull an early shift at Verdant today because we have a shipment coming in, which may or may not be the most depressing thing I’ve ever said, and I am in desperate need of coffee.” _Verdant_ is the nightclub that Oliver opened after coming home from the island, a cover for the foundry underneath, and Thea works as her brother's general manager while Roy works as a Busboy.

“But we’re still on for Saturday night, right?” Her question is aimed at Felicity, who nods.

“Absolutely,” Felicity smiles because she still cannot believe Laurel’s bridal shower is this weekend. It feels like the world has been waiting _forever_ for Tommy and Laurel to tie the knot; Channel 7 News has been speculating about the ceremony since the two announced their engagement in June. “Be there at 7 o’clock sharp,” She winks.

“If I didn’t know better,” Oliver snorts, “I’d say you’re trying to steal Speedy.”

“Worst nickname ever, Ollie,” Thea protests at the same time Felicity says, “Thea has an open invitation to join the Birds of Prey.”

Oliver stills. “What,” He asks.

“If she ever gets tired of the all-boys club, I’m sure she’ll let us know,” Felicity continues with a shrug, enjoying the identical looks of betrayal Roy and Oliver aim at Thea, and then she adds, “But I’m going to head out, too. Curtis has been spiraling and only communicating with emojis for the last hour, so I have a feeling he’s on another coding bender.”

Felicity pauses long enough to talk to Diggle, asking after Lyla who's pregnant with their first child, then she shouts her goodbyes as her Jimmy Choo’s click-clack against the concrete. Her ponytail swings against her back as she heads towards the stairs that lead to Verdant and steps out into the early morning chill, but her mouth instantly curves into a smile when she feels the sun on her skin.

She’s digging through her purse for her car keys when she hears the door bang open behind her and she’s amused to see that Oliver’s already changed into his casual billionaire look ( _she’ll never tell him, but he makes the jeans and t-shirt ensemble look good_ ) when he calls out, “Hey, hey!”

“How is work,” Oliver asks when he catches up to her, easily accomplished because one of his steps is three of her own. He’s exceptionally smiley today, which Felicity is happy to see because last spring had been a hellish time for both Team Arrow _and_ the Birds of Prey.

What with Oliver and Sara’s past coming back to haunt them in the form of Slade Wilson; Moira Queen’s numerous secrets coming to light, including her prior affair with _Malcolm Merlyn_ ; the dissolution of Oliver's relationship with Susan Williams; and then Felicity's hospitalization after she took a bullet that had been meant for Sara, which had been followed by Deathstroke's siege on Star City.

“It’s currently a soul-crushing exercise in misery because of Palmer,” Felicity cannot help the way she growls in the back of her throat when she mentions her arch nemesis, “But the proposal he made about a joint venture between our two companies was too good to pass up. Plus, he had Anna do the asking,” Felicity pouts, “And I like Anna.”

Oliver clears his throat, “Hmm.”

Felicity winces when she remembers the looming threat Queen Consolidated faces from a hostile takeover by Palmer Tech, “Frack, Oliver, sorry.”

Moira’s being sworn in as mayor in less than two months ( _she decided to run for mayor after Mayor Altman was one of the casualties during Deathstroke's siege on Star City_ ) but she has been acting as CEO since Walter resigned following their very messy, very public separation. Now Moira doesn't have the time to train a new CEO and the board is threatening to accept Ray Palmer’s bid for the company. Which is why Moira's pressuring Oliver to take his ‘rightful’ place as CEO of Queen Consolidated, seeing as they both agree Thea's too young.

With Thea already working as the general manager of _Verdant_ , the nightclub will be left in good hands if Oliver turns his focus to Queen Consolidated, and there’s no denying Oliver Queen looks _good_ in a suit and tie, but Felicity knows from their late-night chats that being master of the universe is the one thing Oliver’s never wanted for himself.

“Moira’s… resourceful,” Felicity realizes she must more than _like_ Oliver if she’s complimenting Moira Queen of all people, “I’m sure the board will find in her favor and you know Thea would be able to handle  _Verdant_ , especially with Roy helping her. And I'm sure you would be a great CEO. Unfortunately, you don’t really have the qualifications to run Queen Consolidated,” She babbles, then her eyes widen. “But you do have the passion. You care about the company and the people that work there, that’s what you’d have to get across to the board. Speak from the heart,” She insists, visibly fidgeting when she speed walks to her car.

“Felicity, would you like to have dinner with me?" Oliver asks, the words leaving his mouth in a rush, and she blinks at him in confusion because _what the frack?_

Felicity rolls her eyes and turns around, insisting, “I’m being serious here, Oliver.”

Oliver licks his lips and inhales deeply, then exhales. “So am I,” Oliver walks closer, then says, “Have dinner with me.”

“I don't want to read too much into this,” Felicity frowns, brow creasing as she closes the distance between them, “But are you asking me out on a date? Like an actual date?” Because it’s entirely possible he's asking her out to dinner as friends. Which makes more sense because the two of them  _together_ is  _unthinkable._ “Like a _date-date_ ,” She clarifies like a dork.

“Su _—_ I mean, the implication being with dinner that you,” Oliver trips over his words, and her eyes widen _._

“Usually I’m the one talking in sentence fragments,” Felicity points out, unable to stop her smile.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” Oliver asks again, this time more confident, then he descends into a babble that is entirely too adorable for her to be expected to resist. “Or how about a drink? Not now, obviously. But would you maybe...? I’ll take you out for _—_ would you like to have dinner with me? Felicity?”

“Well, dinner would be nice.” Felicity smiles, chewing on her bottom lip, indecision warring inside of her because her life is about to become so totally complicated if she dates Oliver Queen. “In fact,” She continues when she sees surprise flash in his blue eyes as if he expected her to turn him down, and then his mouth curves into an honest smile that is impossibly attractive. “I can probably make myself free tonight,” Felicity smiles.

“Tonight? Okay, yeah. Do you like Italian?” He asks. “Everyone likes Italian.”

Felicity’s smile softens around the edges and laughs, nodding, “I love Italian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I changed a lot, but those changes will be explained in later installments. Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/) Reviews feed my muse :)


	16. "Nice to meet you, Quentin." (Nov. 6, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _After an argument with Felicity, Donna Smoak meets Quentin Lance and the two commiserate over their daughters. Neither know just how much the other will change their life._
> 
> **FACECLAIM** : [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**  [[DONNA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/234910151_zpstuiql863.jpg) [[FELICITY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228730267_zps6cuoghq6.jpg)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Velvet pumps click-clack against the restored floors of the converted clock tower and she rolls her eyes in annoyance when she finally finds Felicity. “Of course I’d find you here,” [Donna](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/234910151_zpstuiql863.jpg) mocks, sarcastic when she finds her daughter working, “Where else would you be? Clearly, you love it here.”

[Felicity](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228730267_zps6cuoghq6.jpg) stills, covering the mouthpiece on her cell when she asks, “Could you just wait one second?”

“ _Wait_? I’m sorry,” Donna scoffs, crossing her arms across her chest, “But I’ve already waited two hours at the hotel and then another two hours at the restaurant. We’ve missed our reservation, by the way.”

Emotions war for dominance on Felicity's face and then she's speaking to whoever is on the other end of the line, saying, “I'll have to call you back.” Annoyance then etches into her face as she ends the call and tosses her cell in her black purse, climbing to her feet, scoffing, “Thanks, Mom. That wasn't the least bit mortifying. Only half as bad as parents' week my freshman year,” She mutters.

“I'm sorry, Felicity,” Donna cries, frustrated, “I'm sorry I'm such an _inconvenience_ to you.”

“Because you can't seem to comprehend that I can't make the whole world stop just because you decided to show up on my doorstep,” Felicity snaps, spinning on her heel to advance on Donna, “I have responsibilities, Mom.”

“Yes, I know, Felicity,” Donna taunts because this is an old argument between mother and daughter, two people who have nothing in common except for how fiercely they love each other. “You have work,” She nods, “You have work, _work_ , _work_.”

“No, no, no,” Felicity argues, shaking her head, frustrated tears clinging to her lashes and she wishes she could just make her mother _understand_. “It's so much more than work, Mom! I'm sorry that I missed our reservation, but I am trying to build a company|! A company.” It’s been almost six months since she started Smoak Tech, and it’s still a sapling, just a sprout, but one day she’ll have her own skyscraper. Like Kord Industries and Queen Consolidated.

“I have investors counting on me to deliver on the promises I've made, to create this bad ass software firm, which I realize you haven't even asked about.” Felicity cries, frustrated because her mother has never shown any interest in her work, “Not that that's surprising, because all you care about is my love life and how much cleavage I _don't_ show,” Felicity accuses.

Donna blinks, then blinks again, looking affronted when she murmurs, “That is not true, Felicity.”

“That is _completely_ true,” Felicity scoffs, years of hurt and frustration tumbling from her mouth. “And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm terminally single, I'm sorry that I have an actual job, and I'm sorry that I don't dress like a porn star.” Cornflower blue eyes, eyes that are identical in shade and intensity to Donna's own, take in her mother's magenta and pink dress with its sequin embellishments with scorn, “Which I realize is a compliment to you. So, I'm sorry that I am _such_ a disappointment to you,” Felicity warbles, “But you can't show up in my life unannounced and then take offense that I have prior commitments. If you were going to visit, you shoulder have called first.”

“I didn't call because I didn't want to give you the chance to say _no_ ,” Donna says after a moment, picking at the royal blue nail polish that covers her perfectly manicured nails. “But you should have called me, too,” Her eyes flash, steel in her tone as her gaze pierces Felicity.

“I just told you that I've been busy,” Felicity starts.

“I'm not talking about today, or last week, or even this month,” Donna interrupts, drawing herself to her full height.

Felicity throws her hands up in frustration, her mother's loud voice leaving her lips when she demands, “Then when? When was I supposed to have called you, Mom?”

“After the earthquake,” Donna snaps right back, using her patented loud voice and her daughter stills, brows furrowed, and Donna's mouth curves into an ugly imitation of a smile. “Starling City was torn in half, baby girl,” She says firmly, her red-painted mouth curving into a frown, and Felicity can't help but think the expression looks wrong etched into her mother's face. “An earthquake leveled half of the city and I went days not knowing if you were alive or if, if you...”

Felicity watches as her mother brushes away the tear that's carving a path down her cheek, guilt burning in the pit of her stomach. She's breathing hard and she can taste the bile, thick and heavy, in the back of her throat. Her chest _hurts_ because she never wants to hurt Donna, but sometimes it feels like that's all she's capable of when it comes to her mother.

“I'm not as smart as you, Felicity, or your father,” Donna sounds ashamed of that fact and, for the first time, Felicity wonders if shame is the reason her mother's never asked her about her work, not a lack of interest. “Even when you were six years old, I could barely keep up with you two. Maybe I haven't always been the parent that you wanted, but I have _always_ been there,” She rasps as she runs a hand over her tired face, smudging her usually immaculate make-up. “I stayed, and I tried.” Donna presses her hand to her trembling mouth. “You know, it's so funny. I was always so afraid that one day you were going to leave me too, but now I realize you already have.”

Felicity's face crumples in the face of her mother's devastation. “Mom...” She starts, walking towards Donna, but her mother is already gone, her Louboutin heels announcing her departure as she steps out into the busy streets of Starling City.

Donna's not sure how far or how long she walks before she finds herself stepping into a bar. It's not the kind of establishment she usually frequents, instead, it's small, a hole in the wall kind of place with dark wood and leather, the kind of place that probably has regulars and boasts drink specials, but Donna needs to take a breath and have a drink.

Her blue eyes scan the establishment, looking for somewhere to sit, and she pauses when she catches sight of a man sitting alone. He's attractive, with plush lips and dark hair that's begun to grey at the temples, but what catches Donna's attention is the defeated slope of his shoulders as he drapes himself across the bar. She's across the bar before she's realized she's moved, hovering over his shoulder when she wonders, “Feeling lonely?”

“Ha,” He snorted, amused, “You don't even know the half of it.”

Donna's mouth curve into a small, bitter smile as she slides onto the stool next to him because misery loves company. “I might,” Donna muses as she leans back and lounges on the stool, sitting so she's angled towards the stranger. “I, um, I came to town to visit my daughter whom I haven't seen since her college graduation because I wanted to see with my own two eyes that she's okay, but the two of us had a fight. And, honestly, I'm not sure what the fight was about. Felt like we were arguing just to argue,” Laughter tumbles from her lips before she reaches out to nudge his arm, then she's leaning against the top of the bar, her chin resting on her fist, “Now it's your turn.”

His eyes are hooks for the soul as he regards Donna thoughtfully, but minutes pass in silence and she doesn't think he's going to reciprocate, but then, “Well, one of my daughters is home after being... _gone_ for a long time, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to have her _back_ , but I don't know.” He sighs, “Things just aren't going as smoothly as I'd hoped.”

“Sounds like a good reason to drink,” Donna says, gesturing to the drink held between his hands.

“Oh, I always got a reason, but _this_ is club soda.” He angles himself towards her then, elbow resting on the bar, then he's holding his free hand out to Donna, something akin to a charming grin forming on his face and she thinks it's the remnants of a boyish grin from his youth. “Name's Quentin,” He says, introducing himself.

“Nice to meet you, Quentin,” Donna smiles, shaking his head, “I'm Donna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donna and Quentin have finally met, and I have a lot of plans for these two in this 'verse. _Detailed_ plans. Reviews feed my muse. ; )


	17. "I just want you to be safe." (Nov. 22, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _When Sara checks on her sister after an incident at the courthouse, she learns that a man named Barton Mathis has escaped from Iron Heights. A serial killer that preys on young women and turns them into dolls? Sounds like a job for the Canary and the Huntress._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[HELENA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228775961_zpst8s9vsts.jpg) [[SARA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/229342654_zpsd7rry1ig.jpg) [[LAUREL]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/234956192_zpsyktp3nl8.jpg)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

“I’m sure she’s fine, pretty bird,”[ Helena ](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228775961_zpst8s9vsts.jpg)says dismissively, “Someone would have called you if she weren’t.”

[Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/229342654_zpsd7rry1ig.jpg) pauses long enough to aim a stink eye at Helena, and then she’s stalking into the office, her blue eyes scanning the area until she finds her sister talking to Adam Donner. “Laurel, hey, there you are,” She walks up to her sister, her hands tucked into the pockets of her black leather jacket in what she hopes in a casual manner, Helena at her side.

“Hey, Sara,” [Laurel](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/234956192_zpsyktp3nl8.jpg) says as she turns away from the conversation she’d been having with Adam, and her smile dims when she notices Sara’s here with _Helena_. “And Helena,” She adds, greeting the brunette with a reluctant nod, one that the brunette returns. Her dislike is probably unfair, Laurel knows, because she doesn’t actually know Helena. What Laurel does know is exactly what kind of man Frank Bertinelli was before his death, and she’s _concerned_ that her little sister is spending so much time with the daughter a known crime boss.

But Sara has only been home for a month.

Laurel doesn’t want to risk the fragile bond they've formed by voicing her opinions about Helena.

Looking back at her little sister now, Laurel simply asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I heard about what happened in court this morning,” Sara says with a tremulous, cautious smile. It’s almost heartbreaking, the way the two of them have been dancing around each other since she returned home, both too afraid of widening the chasm that’s formed between them. She tips her head to the side, brow furrowed, when she asks, “Why didn’t tell me?”

Adam Donner looks between the two sisters before he looks at Laurel, and says, “I think I’ll give you two a moment to talk.” His hand brushes against the small of Laurel’s back as he walks away, an action that Helena’s brow hiking in amusement because _interesting_.

Laurel’s mouth curves into a small smile when she says, “Thanks, Adam.” She then glances up at the time and realizes she needs to be back at the courthouse soon, then leads her sister over to her desk so that she can gather her files while dealing with her sister’s worry. “And I was going to tell you, Sara,” Laurel continues, “But it all happened so fast.”

There had been a drive-by shooting outside the courthouse that morning.

No one had been killed, thankfully, but two people are now in hospital.

Cyrus Vanch is facing three consecutive life sentences, and evidently, he’s becoming desperate.

“Plus, Tommy’s already been by to try and talk me out of out working this case, and I figured you and dad would try to do the same… which is why you’re here,” Laurel realizes when she sees the guilty expression on her sister’s face. “ _Sara_ ,” She protests, “It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Sara stares at her like she’s being especially stupid. “Laurel, everyone knows what kind of guy Cyrus Vanch is, and this is the _second_ time in two weeks someone has aimed a gun at you because of of him.” Last week, during court, one of Vanch’s associates had pulled a gun on Laurel outside the courtroom. Laurel disarmed him and Adam Donner, joked, saying, _I knew I made the right decision when I hired you_.

Sara moves around her sister’s desk and reaches out to hold one of her hands in her own. “I just want you to be safe, Laurel,” Sara says honestly, concern coating her every word.

“And I love you for caring,” Laurel vows, squeezing her sister’s hand, “But, Sara, Cyrus Vanch is connected to human trafficking, drug running, racketeering, and _at least_ 52 different homicides. He deserves to rot in Iron Heights for the rest of his life and the people he’s hurt deserve _justice_ ,” Laurel insists passionately, “And I intend on getting it for them.”

Sara shakes her head fondly. “Dinah Laurel Lance,” She muses, “Always trying to save the world.”

“Hey, if I don’t try and save it, who will?” Laurel asks, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You’ve never seen me be a lawyer before, Sara, but I am _really_ good at it.”

It’s Helena that speaks next. “Clearly,” Helena muses from where she sits on the corner of Laurel’s desk, reaching out to tap her finger against the tiny metal rod on the perpetual motion toy, watching as the force sends the contraption into faster motion. “She’s an assistant district attorney, Sara,” She glances up at her partner before flicking the tiny metal rod again, “If someone’s not trying to kill her, she’s not doing her job right.”

“As much as it _physically_ pains me to agree with Helena, she has a point,” Laurel says before she wraps her sister in a tight hug, momentarily burying her face in the crook of Sara’s neck. “I have to run,” She says as she pulls back, “I can’t be late for court. I’ll call you when I’m out.”

Sara nods, “I’ll hold you to that. If you can go the rest of the day without dodging bullets, I’ll bring a bottle of your favorite red to sister night.”

Laurel’s face erupts into a smile that is wide and bright, brimming with happiness, and then she grabs her purse before reaching out a hand to stop the perpetual motion toy. “Try not to get her into too much trouble,” She orders Helena, who sits back, unconcerned, then Laurel’s straightening her back and telling Sara, “I love you, I’ll talk to you later.”

Laurel's exit is interrupted by Detective Lance. “That’s twice in two weeks,” Her father grits out as he walks into the office, heading straight for Laurel, cutting her off before she can leave, “That you’re ducking bullets.”

“Dad,” Laurel interrupts, “I’m fine—”

“You don’t _look_ fine,” Detective Lance snaps back, worried.

“Who’s that?” Laurel asks, noticing the office behind her father, “What’s going on?”

“This is Officer Daily,” Lance answers, gesturing to the fresh-faced officer that looks like he would rather be anywhere else in this moment, “Get used to his face, he’s going with you everywhere. I’m assigning him to be your police protection. No arguments, Laurel,” Lance warns.

“I’m a lawyer,” Laurel reasons, “I live to argue.”

“This isn’t a joke, Laurel,” Lance interjects before she can argue with him further. “Cyrus Vanch is more dangerous than you are willing to admit, and you have made him angry. You have whipped up a storm and until the dust settles, you will be protected. End of discussion.”

“That might have worked when I was eight,” Laurel says, “But it’s not going to work anymore.”

“End of discussion, Laurel,” Lance rasps harshly, “You want to do your job, you want to get justice for the people that Vanch has hurt, and I could not be more proud of you. But this is _me_ doing _my_ job, not just as a detective, but as your father.” He looks to be at the end of his rope when he adds, “Officer Daily _stays_.”

“Officer Daily stays,” Laurel nods, knowing when to push and when her father will not be swayed because there’s no denying she got her stubbornness from Detective Lance. “Did you just come here to tell me you were putting me in protective custody? Which you tried to do when I discovered boys, I’ll add, and it didn’t work then,” She jokes, hoping to lighten the mood.

His mouth quirks into a small smile, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. “No,” Lance agrees as he crosses the space between them. Slowly, cautiously, Laurel reaches out and lays a hand on his arm, and her father’s tense beneath her touch for a long moment before he finally relaxes. “No, I came here to check up on you and check on some court records,” Laurel’s brows furrow in confusion and he adds, “Barton Mathis is out. I’m looking for his attorney.”

Now that a ceasefire has been called between her father and Laurel, Sara approaches the two of them, her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead when she asks, “Who’s Barton Mathis?” Concern settles like a heavy weight on her chest when she notices Laurel’s worry.

“He’s a serial killer,” Helena answers her partner from where she’s sat on the corner of the desk, uncrossing her legs before she climbs to her feet. “The media calls him the Doll Maker because he suffocates his victims with a flexible polymer that he pours down their throats before he dresses them up like dolls.”

Sara frowns, disgusted, and looks back at Lance, “I put him away there a few years ago.” Her father tells her. “But because of the damage Iron Heights suffered after the earthquake, he’s out and he’s killing again.” Lance trails off, seemingly stuck in his own head, seeing something that no one else can.

“Dad, this case…” Laurel starts, concerned, “It took you to such a dark place last time.”

“Yeah, well, I think we both know it wasn’t Mathis who did that.” Detective Lance answers, glancing at his youngest daughter out of the corner of his eye, and Sara feels that familiar feeling of regret clawing at her chest like it always does whenever she’s reminded how much she hurt her family by going on the Queen’s Gambit. “Look,” Lance says, “Nobody knows this guy better than me, which means nobody’s got a better chance of stopping him, okay? And that means every girl that he kills is like another one on my conscience.”

“Dad, no,” Laurel argues, shaking her head, “It’s not.”

“Well, that’s what it feels like. Look, I gotta go,” Lance says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Laurel’s forehead before he turns to Sara and presses a lingering kiss to her temple. “I love you both,” He says as he walks away, pausing long enough to point a finger at Officer Daily, “You protect her, you hear me?”

Sara stares after her father until he’s out of sight, then she turns back to Laurel, demanding, “What the hell was that, Laurel?”

Laurel pauses, twisting her hands together, struggling with what to say, wondering if she should even say anything to Sara. “Less than a month after the Queen’s Gambit was lost at sea; after we thought you’d _died_ , Dad ended up catching the Doll Maker case. He threw himself into the case. I think…” Laurel trails off, worry bright in her eyes, in the soft lines of her mouth, in the curve of her spin, “I think on some level, with each girl, he was trying to save _you_. And, in his mind, just like with you, he couldn’t.”

“Laurel,” Adam Donner calls, “We’ve got to go.”

“ _Shit_ , we’re going to be late,” Laurel turns on her heel and strides towards Adam, pausing long enough to look back and say, “I love you.” It’s something Laurel always ensures she does now, tell her sister that she loves her. Almost like she’s afraid one of these times she’ll realize this last month was a dream and that her sister is still at the bottom of the North China Sea.

Sara watches her sister go, her chest tight while her fingers twitch at her side, longing for the familiar weight of her bo-staff in her hands. She feels worry hot and heavy in her stomach because there’s nothing she can do for Laurel, but maybe, just maybe she can help her father.

Helena’s clearly had the same thought because all she says is, “Mathis killed eight girls before he was caught.” Sara turns to stare at her, arches an eyebrow in question, but otherwise stays silent. “The last time the Doll Maker was active,” Helena continues, “He ramped up to one kill every three days.”

“That gives us two to catch him,” Sara says, her voice like steel, and suddenly Helena’s talking to the Canary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed my muse ; )


	18. "Accessory to vigilantism." (Nov. 25, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _Helena and Sara seek out Felicity Smoak’s help for the second time when they can’t find Barton Mathis. Felicity’s all to happy to help._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:** [[FELICITY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/233771882_zpsd8w7xxlw.jpg) [[HELENA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228776583_zpsal0favpq.jpg) [[SARA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228757063_zpsu2rtqixb.jpg)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

In the weeks since she first met Starling City’s vigilantes, Felicity's managed to convince herself that the entire experience was an anomaly, an outlier. She never expected to see Helena and Sara ever again but then the universe proves to be one twisted bitch when the two of them walk into Smoak Tech, this time asking about secluded, abandoned warehouses.

The Huntress and the Canary attempted to apprehend the Doll Maker last night and Felicity’s willing to bet what remains of her substantial Queen Consolidated severance package _that’s_ the real reason for their sudden interest in real estate.

[Felicity](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/233771882_zpsd8w7xxlw.jpg) listens to their well-rehearsed lie for about two minutes before she holds up a hand, interrupting Helena. “Let me stop you there,” Felicity watches the brunette blink once, twice, three times before she continues. “This will go a lot quicker if you just tell me the truth,” and then she says the eight words that will change her life forever, “What do you need me to do? _Huntress_.”

[Helena](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228776583_zpsal0favpq.jpg) freezes, her spine straight and face blank.

“ _C'mon_ ,” Felicity defends, offended, her impossibly blue eyes narrowed. “I decrypt your father's security fob and tell you about a shipment coming in by way of the docks and mere _hours_ later Starling City's vigilantes were involved in a shootout in the warehouse district where the SCPD was involved in a major drug bust. I’m blonde,” She says, “But I’m not _that_ blonde.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you didn’t turn us in out of the goodness of your heart?” Helena mocks, suspicious.

“No,” Felicity scoffs at the notion anyone could be that _good_ , “I didn't turn you in because I happen to think the vigilantes are making a _difference_. And because I figured I owed you one,” She adds, looking at Sara, “Since you saved me that night.” She’s talking about that night in July, the night _the woman in black_ descended on her would-be attacker like an avenging angel.

[Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228757063_zpsu2rtqixb.jpg)’s mouth quirks up into a small smile, but then her expression hardens, and she says, “You don’t owe me anything.” Her voice is steel and laced with a bone-deep hatred, and suddenly she sounds more like the woman in black that’s been terrorizing attackers than she does Sara Lance. “A woman should _never_ suffer at the hands of men,” She insists.

Felicity’s mouth curves into a slight smile because, yeah, she thinks she could get behind that mantra, but what she says instead is: “Still, you saved me, so _thank you_.” Her eyes dart over to Helena before she looks back at Sara. “But, if this is going to become a _thing,_ I would appreciate if you asked for my help instead of treating me like a dumb blonde in a short skirt. I got enough of _that_ when I worked at Queen Consolidated. If you need my help, _ask_ ,” She insists, her own voice hardening, “If I’m going to be an accessory to vigilantism I would like to know _why_.”

Helena and Sara share a loaded look after her declaration, having a conversation with frowns and arched eyebrows, but then Helena nods, and looks at Felicity. “The Doll Maker’s escaped from Iron Heights and he killed another woman last night,” Helena explains to the blonde hacker, “The police found her body an hour ago.”

Felicity nods, then says, “Okay.” She turns around to face her main computer because this she can do, this she can understand, and her fingers immediately start dancing across the keyboard as she uses skills she hasn’t regularly used since MIT. “Do you know if the new victim gives us any forensics we can use to find the Doll Maker?”

Helena shrugs but Sara says, “I heard my father say that CSI did a complete forensics work-up.”

“All right, toxicology first it is then,” Felicity says as she hacks into the SCPD’s system, her blue eyes dancing across the information on her screen when she finds the toxicology report. Nothing sticks out to her. All of the chemical ingredients seem pretty standard for what one would find on a pretty, young woman. Skin cream. Nail polish. Lipstick.

“What are these?” Helena asks as she braces herself against the desk to lean over Felicity’s shoulder.

Felicity tenses at the woman’s proximity, but then tells herself that someone who dedicates her life to protecting women would never harm one before she focuses on the information in front of her. “Chemical ingredients from all of the make-up found on the victims,” She explains, chewing on the thumbnail on her non-dominant hand when she adds, “Skin cream, nail polish, lipstick.”

Sara’s joined Helena at Felicity’s shoulder, and she reaches out, pointing when something catches her attention. “Wait, wait, wait, stop. Scroll back, scroll back,” Sara orders her own eyes scanning the information in front of her when something familiar catches her eye. _Ethyl paraben, sodium laureth sulfate._ “That one,” She points, “I’ve seen that before. It was in my dad’s file on the Doll Maker. What is it?”

“It’s skin cream,” Felicity murmurs absently as she clicks onto the formula in question, and then her mouth curves into a thoughtful frown when she reads the report, “Forensics found traces of it on her fingers.”

“It’s probably something she used right before he grabbed her,” Helena notes.

“One of the victims from the Doll Maker’s last run had that in her purse,” Sara adds, “My father had the lab analyze it,” Sara remembers seeing a picture of the skin cream being in one of the crime scene photos from her father’s personal file on the Doll Maker. “The skin cream, it’s called Mermaid something,” Felicity’s fingers dance across the keyboard at lightning speed as she opens another window, and then a picture of Mermaiden skin cream is displayed on a monitor.

Felicity nods absently, listening to the other blondes words while she focuses on bringing up all the information she can find on Mermaiden _._ “Ethyl paraben and sodium laureth sulfate is Mermaiden’s proprietary formula,” Felicity reads.

“Two victims with the same taste in skin cream? That can’t be a coincidence,” Helena frowns, her dark locks tumbling over her shoulder as she leans closer to the screen, brows furrowed. “What do we know about the product, Geek-Girl?”

Felicity’s eyes narrow at the nickname because that is not a thing that will be happening, ever, but what she says is: “It’s made from crushed mother of pearl and it’s super high-end.” Felicity makes a low sound in her throat, a surprised squeak because _Mother of Google_ that is a lot of zeroes. “It’s only carried in a handful of boutiques and it’s marketed for women with extremely delicate complexions,” She adds.

“Dad could never figure out how the Doll Maker chose his victims,” Sara murmurs.

“Well, it looks like you managed to figure it out, pretty bird,” Helena says.

“He picks his victims for their skin,” Sara realizes, nodding to herself, “The cream is how he finds them.”

Felicity’s mind whirls, almost like a track with too many trains, but she quickly looks up just where someone in Starling City would be able to buy Mermaiden. “Only four stores in the city carry it,” She notes and she clicks a few more keys, “And three of them have surveillance systems. I could probably _borrow_ the FBI'S facial recognition software and run it through each of them looking for Mathis…”

Helena looks mildly impressed when she asks, “What do they teach at those fancy geek schools, Geek-Girl?”

“I didn’t learn everything I know at MIT,” Felicity says ( _because she learned just as much dangling over her father’s shoulders as a small child_ ) at the same time Sara says, “There’s also the possibility that he’s staking out the stores from the outside.”

“Fine,” Helena says, straightening up and turning to face her partner, “So we’ll do the same.”

Sara shakes her head. “That could take days we don’t have,” She protests as she thinks about the woman they’d been too late to save last night. “He’s probably out there _right now_ looking for another girl, Helena,” She adds when it looks like her partner is going to fight her.

Felicity turns around to watch the argument between the Canary and the Huntress.

But instead Helena looks like she swallowed a lemon; like she knows Sara’s right, but she doesn’t want to agree, but then her shoulders slump and she nods reluctantly. “Well if it's another girl Mathis wants,” Helena says, her voice hard as steel and her blue eyes as cold as ice, “Then that's what we'll give him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~It breaks my heart that Polyvore was shutdown without warning after it was acquired by SSense. All the outfits I had created for this 'verse on Polyvore are gone~~. I downloaded my sets from Polyvore and have uploaded the images to Photobucket. I've gone back and added new links to the chapters. 
> 
>  


	19. “I’m with you.” (Nov. 25, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _Helena and Sara, with the help of Sin and Felicity, lay a trap for the Doll Maker. Sadly, the Doll Maker doesn’t co-operate._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[SIN]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/220824067_zpsh6kbhwia.jpg) [[FELICITY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/233771882_zpsd8w7xxlw.jpg) [[HUNTRESS]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg) [[CANARY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg)

“Thank you so much,” [Sin](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/220824067_zpsh6kbhwia.jpg) smiles as she accepts the pink bag that holds the tiny, overpriced skin cream from the cashier and walks out into the brisk air, glancing up at the dark grey clouds that seem to loom over Starling City. “Okay, ladies, that was the last store,” She mutters into her earpiece, resisting the urge to tug at the baby pink dress set she’s wearing, “And I want you to know I’m burning this dress the first chance I get.”

“Don’t you dare,” [Felicity](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/233771882_zpsd8w7xxlw.jpg) growls, her cornflower blue eyes darting between her monitors while she clicks keys on her keyboard, using the cameras outside the store to follow the teenager through Starling City. “I lived off saltines and crappy tuna for a month to afford that dress…”

It’d been just after she graduated MIT, when she’d revamped her wardrobe after everything that happened with Cooper, when she’d traded in her leather and combat boots with pencil skirts, pastels, and smart, sensible sweaters.

“What,” Sin asks, baffled, then [Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg) says, “Go to the rendezvous point. I’m with you.”

“Stay in public,” Felicity advises over the comm, “Do you see the jewelry store on the corner? There are two cameras across the street, aimed at the door.” Sin doesn’t move her head, but her sharp eyes easily pick out the two security cameras. “I see you,” adds Felicity.

The cameras wiggle up and down, side to side.

At that, [Helena](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg) has to crack a small smile.

“Because that’s not at all creepy,” Sin notes, then she’s talking to Sara, asking, “Where’d you find Hacker Barbie?”

Felicity huffs. “Please, hacking is such an ugly word. I’m more like…” She trails off, her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Think of me as your eye in the sky,” Felicity says finally, mouth curved into a smile, “The one who sees all, and knows all.”

“I want _radio silence_ if what you’re saying is not immediately pertinent to the mission,” Sara says, but she obviously doesn’t expect to be obeyed.

“Yeah, well, just for the record,” Felicity says, “I’m not a huge fan of dangling helpless girls in front of a psychopath like meat.”

“Screw you,” Sin squawks, outraged, “I’m not helpless.”

Sara doesn’t sigh but she sounds like she wants to. “She volunteered,” She says unrepentant from where she is perched on the edge of a building, watching over Sin.  

“Well,” Felicity mutters, “She must really believe in you.”

Sara opens her mouth to say something, but then Helena’s voice is coming over the comm. “Someone’s crossing the street,” She announces when the man in question takes a right, right towards Sin, and Sara’s tone is lethal when she says, “I got him.”

Sin tightens her hold on the pink bag in response, fully prepared to the kick the sonuvabitch’s ass if she must. “Okay,” She whispers into her comm as she speeds up, her heels click-clacking against the pavement as she heads to the rendezvous point where she knows Helena’s waiting for her, “I know my street cred might take a hit because of it but I’m going to admit to being seriously wigged out right now. Sar, you know that I love you, but the next time I offer to be bait for a serial killer, please turn me down,” She pleads, “And ask Hacker Barbie to do it.”

Behind her black mask, Sara’s blue eyes watch the man in question, relief and disappointment warring for dominance in her heart when he breaks off at the last moment and climbs into a beat-up car rather than head into the alley after Sin. “It was a false alarm,” She says, her mouth quirking into a smirk when she hears Helena’s growl of impatience. “We’ll get him,” Sara promises.

“Yeah,” Felicity says, “But maybe not tonight. I _borrowed_ the FBI’s facial recognition software and there’s been no sign of Barton Mathis within a five-mile radius of either store.” Frustration laces her tone because this is not the outcome she wanted when she offered her services to Helena and Sara. “I’ll keep the program running,” She promises.

“You did good, Geek-Girl,” Helena says, then she’s talking to her partner, “Sara…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sara sighs as she backs away from the ledge, heading to her own motorcycle, “I’m late for dinner with my dad.” It’s been a weekly tradition with her father ever since she came home; dinner once a week at the Jade Dragon. It’s a front for the Triad, she knows, and she’s sure her father suspects, but they make the city’s best chow mein.

“Text me if you get a hit on Mathis,” Sara orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly filler, but the next chapter is the conclusion is the final part of this arc, and I think a lot of you are youing to like it. In the mean time, reviews feed my muse, and a chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)


	20. "She’s your very soul."  (Nov. 25, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _The Doll Maker aims to break the soul of the detective that threw him in Iron Heights by turning Laurel Lance into one of his dolls._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:**[[SARA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228757063_zpsu2rtqixb.jpg) [[FELICITY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/233771882_zpsd8w7xxlw.jpg) [[HUNTRESS]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg) [[CANARY]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg) [[LAUREL]](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-laurel-lance-4) [[SUSAN]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/20%20susan_zpsvvbm7jda.jpg)

[Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228757063_zpsu2rtqixb.jpg) walks into the 24-hour restaurant, her blue eyes scanning the room for her father, and when she doesn’t see him she moves to the most secluded chair available, one that will give her a full view of the other customers and the street outside. She checks her phone to ensure she hasn’t missed a text or a call from her father, then settles back in the chair, relaxing as much as she ever allows herself when in public.

There’s no message from her father, so she just assumes he’s running late himself.

However, there _is_ a text message from Tommy, sent over an hour ago.

[ Nov.25 -- 2123 -- From: tommy Merlyn ]

_Have you heard from Laurel?_

[ Nov.25 -- 2252 -- To: tommy merlyn ]

_I’m not her keeper, Merlyn_

[ Nov.25 -- 2252 -- To: tommy merlyn ]

_did you check the courthouse?_

[ Nov.25 -- 2257 -- From: tommy merlyn ]

_I’m insulted that you even had to ask! It’s Laurel. The courthouse was the first place I checked. She’s not answering her phone._

[ Nov.25 -- 2258 -- To: tommy merlyn ]

_she’s probably still pissed you wanted her to drop the case_

[ Nov.25 -- 2305 -- From: tommy merlyn ]

_Turn on channel 52._

Sara tries to ignore the fear settling into her stomach as she climbs to her feet and walks over to the old, crappy television mounted above the counter and turns on channel 52. _“Detective Lance and his daughter, ADA Laurel Lance, were abducted earlier tonight,”_[Susan Williams](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/20%20susan_zpsvvbm7jda.jpg) reports and Sara’s expression shutters, her face carefully void of expression. _“No ransom has been made,”_ Susan adds, _“SCPD are urging anyone with information regarding their whereabouts to contact…”_

[ Nov.26 --23012 -- To: helena bertinelli ]

_Smoak tech. now._

[ Nov.26 -- 2312 -- From: helena bertinelli ]

_Already on my way._

 

* * *

 

“How did Mathis get them,” [Helena](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729196_zpskbrwkcz5.jpg) is asking, “They shouldn’t have been on his radar—”

“I don’t know about Laurel,” [Felicity](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/233771882_zpsd8w7xxlw.jpg) says and she doesn’t even startle when Sara appears on her other side, only offering a pained grimace of sympathy before she’s focusing on the screens in front of her once more, “But Detective Lance was abducted from the precinct parking lot. Mathis shot a guard on the way out, which sounded the alarm.”

“Bring up the footage,” Helena orders and then the three of them watch the footage together. Watch as Mathis descends upon Detective Lance, watch as he efficiently plunges a needle in his neck, then they watch as Detective Lance’s eyes fly open in panic before Mathis throws his limp body in the back of a van.

“Why would Mathis target _them_?” Sara demands. She’s simmering with fury, her hand yearning for the familiar weight of her bo-staff, and she already knows how tonight is going to end. With Barton Mathis going to the morgue in a body bag; not back to his cell in Iron Heights.

“From what I could gather, your father talked to Mathis’ old attorney and tracked him to something called the Bisque Museum,” Felicity answers, tapping one of her fingers against the side of her keyboard. “Your dad interrupted Mathis trying to abduct another girl. She's safe, but Mathis got away.”

“And he targeted Laurel,” Sara adds, “To hurt my father. _Smart._ ”

“Sara—” Helena starts when her partner starts to head to the door.

“Sara. Sara, wait, wait, wait,” Felicity calls, waving a hand to urge the other blonde over to the screen once more, “When we watched the department’s security camera footage, a van from Metamorphosis Chemical caught my eye.” Felicity spins in her chair to look up at Sara, tone earnest when she says, “Metamorphosis Chemical was condemned after the quake.”

Sara looks up at Helena, who raises an eyebrow, simply saying, “Perfect place to make some dolls.”

“Not tonight,” Sara snarls. Her voice is low, and deliberately steady when she catches the bag that holds her gear when Helena tosses it to her.

 

* * *

 

 _“Mathis entered the factory through the loading dock on the south side,”_ Sara hears Felicity’s voice through her earpiece, from where she and Helena are ducking in the shadows by the entrance on the east side. _“I thought it would be useful to know if there’s anyone else in the building. Using ARGUS’ satellite,”_ Helena’s mouth curves into an amused smirk, _“I’m picking up three heat signatures aside from the two of you… Which means, I just hacked a federal agency. Kind of makes me a cyber-terrorist, doesn’t it? Noah would be so proud,”_ Felicity mumbles bitterly before adding, _“So when ARGUS takes me away, I expect the two of you to break me out because I really don’t see myself fitting in well at Guantanamo Bay.”_

“Don’t worry, Geek-Girl,” Helena soothes, “They don’t send blondes there.”

 _“I dye it, actually,”_ Felicity confesses and then nearly shouts, _“I kept_ your _secret!”_

“All right,” [Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228729168_zpshllrpp34.jpg) says, “We’re headed in. And I want _radio silence_.” It’s the same order she gave earlier that night, but it’s ignored once more as Felicity and Helena continue to trade sarcastic comments back-and-forth. “When the hostages are secure,” She says to Felicity, “I want you to place an anonymous call to the SCPD.”

Felicity clicks her earpiece once in acknowledgment and then the two vigilantes make their way into Metamorphosis Chemicals. “I hope you appreciate all I do for you,” Helena tells Sara, loading an arrow into her crossbow, “Because this isn’t exactly how I planned on spending my Friday Night.”

“No?” Sara asks dryly as they make their way inside the factory.

“No, this is much better,” Helena jokes, at least Sara _thinks_ it’s a joke. “You definitely know how to show a girl a good time, pretty bird,” She adds, “Now I know how you charmed your hot assassin girlfriend.”

“Barton, I’m sorry. I know you hate me, I know you hate me, okay, and I understand that” Detective Lance shouts from somewhere up ahead, his voice echoing off the barren walls. “But you hate _me_ ,” the desperation in his voice increases until he’s _begging_ , “So please, _please_ , let my daughter go.”

Sara raises her hand, halting Helena’s movements. “That way,” She says, pointing towards the half-open door down one of the corridors and the long shadow of a man walking back and forth. _Barton Mathis._

Helena nods, keeping her crossbow at the ready, following Sara’s lead.

“Now why would I do that? look at her, she’s so lovely,” Mathis taunts, and it’s so easy to picture him caressing Laurel’s face with his slimy hands. “Maybe a little too much melanin in the skin, but it’s the imperfections that make art _sublime_.”

“ _I_ am the one who put you away,” Detective Lance shouts, “She had nothing to do with it!”

“She had _everything_ to do with it. She’s your world, she’s your rock, she’s your very soul,” Mathis roars, spit flying from his mouth as he shouts at Lance, his entire body trembling with rage. “I could kill you, I could maim you, I could slice you up into _a thousand little pieces_ , but if your soul remains intact, what have I wrought? Huh? Nothing.”

“I will kill you, you son of a bitch! I will kill you,” Lance roars, but then he's talking to [Laurel](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-laurel-lance-4). “Laurel, sweetheart, close your eyes,” He pleads, and his voice is hoarse and thick with tears, “Close your eyes, baby.”

Finally, at the entrance, Sara kicks in the door and heads straight for her sister as Helena extends her arm, holding her crossbow. She has a clear shot and she uses it to aim at the tubing that Mathis has fastened to Laurel’s face, knocking it free before the polymer can make its way down her throat.

Mathis reaches for his gun, opening fire.

Sara ducks to the right while Helena goes left.

Helena uses an arrow to cut Detective Lance’s bonds before taking off after Mathis while Sara makes her way to Laurel, untying her from the rack she’d been strapped to, assuring her that she’s okay. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” She soothes, taking her sister’s face in her hands, “You’re safe now, Laurel.”

Laurel’s response is slow, her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead, her face drained of color and her clothes stained beyond saving. Sara brushes her forehead, sweeping her hair out over her face like their mother used to do when they were upset. “We’re getting you out of here,” Sara vows, voice firm, “And no one will ever, _ever_ hurt you again. I promise, Laur.”

Sara’s shoved out of the way as her father moves to embrace Laurel, rocking her back and forth while her sister sobs into his chest and Sara cannot help but feel _jealous_ despite the fact her sister doesn’t realize it’s _her_. Laurel doesn’t know she’s the Canary; has never asked her how it is she spends her nights. Still, she’s jealous, because _she_ wants to be the one to comfort her sister.

She turns to Helena, where she has Mathis in a chokehold. “You know, you have _such_ lovely skin,” Mathis is telling Helena, “Such a pretty, pretty thing. I wonder what you look like beneath that mask.”

Detective Lance looks over from where he’s holding Laurel, his arms sliding over her waist and up her back, his stubble brushing her collarbone when he lifts his chin from where it’d been resting at the crook of her neck. “You saved my baby girl, so that gets you a free pass, but next time I see you, I’ll throw you in the cell beside him.” He tells Sara and Helena, then he looks at Mathis, “You’re going back to jail, you son of a bitch.”

Helena catches Sara’s gaze, sees the fury and the anger there, and understanding washes over her. “No,” Helena says, “He’s _not_.”

Mathis falls to the floor, his neck broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews feed my muse, and a chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ].](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)


	21. “I don’t even know you.” (Nov. 26, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** Following the incident with the Dollmaker, Laurel struggles with the realization that her sister is the Canary.
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
> **OUTFITS:** [[SARA]](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228757063_zpsu2rtqixb.jpg)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

Laurel Lance is alive.

She hasn’t lost her sister.

[Sara](http://i1149.photobucket.com/albums/o581/babblekween/228757063_zpsu2rtqixb.jpg) stares at her sister through the narrow privacy window in the door, drinking in the sight of her sister, her hand on the doorknob as she struggles to control her emotions. She could have lost her sister tonight. After months of dancing around each other, both afraid to strain the bond between them that’s already so fragile…

Sara closes her eyes and a ragged breath escapes from between her pale pink lips. A minute or two sooner and her sister would have been another one of the Dollmaker’s victims. Laurel would be dead, and her father would have lost a daughter for the second time.

Sara twists the doorknob and pushes the door open.

Laurel turns from the large window that overlooks Starling City. Her hair has lost its pretty waves and now hangs around her shoulders in limp strands. Her make-up is gone. Her face is pale. Her ruined clothes have been discarded in a plastic bag that rests at the foot of her hospital bed, and she’s now wearing a soft looking Johnny Coat. It’s too big for her slight frame and seems to make her look even smaller. It doesn’t suit Laurel, Sara thinks, who has always been an untameable force of nature.

Laurel doesn’t even try to smile, just says, “Sara.”

There’s something in her sister’s tone, something that worries Sara. “Hey, Laur,” Sara comes to a stop several feet from Laurel, suddenly feeling awkward and uncertain when her sister flinches at the familiar nickname. “Tommy’s with your nurse getting your release papers ready,” resting all of her weight on one leg, Sara crosses her arms across her chest, “But Dad mentioned that the doctors think you should stay.”

Laurel shakes her head. “I want to go home.”

“ _Laurel_.”

Laurel turns her head to the side, giving her sister nothing but profile as she presses her chapped lips together. She’s quiet for a moment, then sucks in an unsteady breath through her nose before she looks toward Sara, stating, “Dad still has Officer Daily assigned as my police protection _—_ ”

“Yeah,” Sara snorts, “Because _that_ worked out well against Mathis.”

Laurel continues as if her sister hasn’t spoken. “I’ve already been checked over by a doctor, I don’t have a concussion, and I want to go _home_.” She looks at her sister and there’s a quiet desperation in her eyes that Sara’s never seen before. “Please,” Laurel rasps, her lips trembling. “Please, Sara. I just want to go home. Don’t try to convince me to stay. _Please_.”

Sara’s at her sister’s in three strides, hands reaching out to hold Laurel’s hands, and her heart sinks down, down, down into her stomach when her sister yanks her hands away. “Laurel,” Sara says slowly, her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead, “Are you sure you’re _—?_ ”

“Don’t ask me if I’m okay,” Laurel warns, her voice shaking with the intensity of her frustration, boiling over now that her adrenaline has started to wear off. “Because I am sick to death of people treating me like glass and asking me if I’m okay.”

Sara frowns, affronted. “I would _never_ do that.”

“Good,” Laurel nods her head, a barely perceptible movement before rubbing a hand over her trembling mouth.

“But are you okay?” Sara asks because everything about her sister’s stance screams _not okay._

A familiar expression of exasperation etches its way into Laurel’s face as she glowers at Sara, but then Laurel stiffens and becomes closed off once more as she puts distance between herself and Sara. It breaks Sara’s heart, seeing her sister so unsure and guarded. Laurel’s so strong and fierce, a force of nature, always with a quick quip and steely determination in her eyes.

 _This_ isn’t the Laurel that Sara knows.

The woman standing before her is merely a shell of her sister, broken down to pieces, and she can’t help but wish she had the means to bring the Dollmaker back to life just, so she could draw out his death this time. The League taught her how to cut a man so that it took days for him to bleed out, and she’s sure she remembers how. Some skills are hard to forget.

“The Dollmaker can’t hurt you again, Laurel,” Sara starts to assure Laurel, because she and Helena have ensured that Barton Mathis will never hurt _anyone_ ever again. “He’s _—_ ”

“Dead,” Laurel finishes for Sara, who stills, her mouth curved into a confused frown when Laurel’s steely gaze pins her in place. “Barton Mathis is _dead_ , Sara. The vigilantes they, they killed him.” She continues, and her next breath is more of a shudder. “I can’t…” Laurel rasps, “How do I live with that?”

“By remembering that Barton Mathis was a _monster_ ,” Sara says firmly because she knows in her heart that the Dollmaker was never going to stop, and she knows Laurel knows that too. “Laurel, he was going to kill you, he’d already killed a dozen innocent women,” She insists when she sees her sister purse her lips, “He wasn’t going to _stop_.”

“Yes, yes, I know that.” Laurel licks her lips. “He was a horrible man that did horrible things and those women deserved justice, their _families_ deserved to see justice served, but god help me, Mathis deserved to have a fair trial with a judge and a jury _—_ ”

“And what would a jury do, Laurel?” Sara asks, a sneer etched into her pretty features. “Sentence him to consecutive life sentences in Iron Heights? Oh, _wait_ , they did that already, and then they lost him. He escaped, and they didn’t even _tell_ anyone until he started killed again!” Sara snaps. “At least this time he’ll _stay down_.”

“We don’t have to go outside the law to find justice,” Laurel says. It’s their father’s favorite jingle.

Laurel’s words hit her like a sucker punch, and Sara takes a step back as she shakes her head sadly. She can’t remember how many times she heard their father say those very words. “Where is this coming from, Laurel?” Sara asks, confused. “Just last week you were in a debate with dad, saying that the vigilantes were trying to help. That Starling City was _proud_ of ordinary women standing up for what’s right.”

“Maybe I’ve realized how _crazy_ it is for a city to idolize masked vigilantes that see themselves as jury, judge, and executioner.” Laurel looks at her sister with big, sad eyes and says, “The Huntress… I looked into her eyes tonight, Sara, and I saw no remorse. She’s a _killer_. Starling needs heroes like Mayor Altman _—_ elected officials, people that can make a real difference, not vigilantes that think they’re above the law.”

“Maybe the people of Starling should have thought about that before they stood by and let scum take control of their city,” Sara says firmly because she cannot believe how naïve her sister is being. Laurel locks them away and within six months they’re back on the streets; when she strikes them down they stay down. “The Huntress replaced evil with death,” these are words that she has heard Ra’s al Ghul voice numerous times, “And the world is truly better for it, Laurel.”

Laurel looks at her sister like she’s never seen her before, or maybe like she’s seeing the woman Sara’s become for the first time since she came home. “You really believe that,” Laurel sounds almost breathless then. “God, it really was you, wasn’t it?” She asks, pale-faced, but before Sara can ask what Laurel is talking about her sister continues and says, “You’re _her_. You’re the Canary.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Laurel, I can explain,” Sara finally says, voice thick and heavy with what sounds like regret.

“You’re working with _her_ , with the Huntress. You were _right there_ and you just stood there as she killed an unarmed man, Sara. You…” Laurel trails off and stumbles back a step while what feels like a load of shrapnel in her chest rips her heart to shreds. “You were home for _months_ before you revealed yourself to us. What? Were you too busy beating the crap out of creeps in what remains of the Glades to tell your family you were home? _Typical Sara_ ,” Laurel can’t help but snarl, low and vicious.

Sara winces, but she knows her sister doesn’t mean it. Words have always been Laurel’s greatest weapon and she chooses the sharpest artillery in her arsenal when she feels cornered or betrayed. “Laurel, look, I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But please don’t cut me out. Now now that you know _—_ ”

“Now that I know, what?” Laurel demands Sara, expression fierce and eyes so green they _burn_. “Everything will be like it was before?”

“Laurel, I know you’re hurt, and I know you have questions, but I kept this a secret to protect the people that are closest to me.” Sara says, but the words sound hollow even to her. When she decided to take up the mantle of the Canary, dedicating her life to the protection of the women in Starling City, Sara swore that her sister would never learn how she chooses to spend her nights.

Sara convinced herself that she was protecting her sister from her new life, from the threat the League had turned her into, but deep down she knows she did it to protect herself. Her relationship with Laurel is fragile and she was afraid that if she told her sister the truth, if she showed Laurel what she’s become, Laurel would reject her.

“Do you think that’s what I care about? What, that my feelings are hurt?” Laurel’s voice goes quiet but no less brutal, like she knows she’s got her sister trapped and she’s about to go in for the kill. “You’re a killer, Sara. You’re my little sister and I love you, but right now it’s like I don’t even _know_ you. Now get out,” She spits out, all vibrant rage.

“Laurel _—_ ”

Laurel shakes her head as she retreats, “Get out.”

Sara can’t move, can barely _breathe_ , and to her horror she feels the wet shine of tears being to form as she watches Laurel. she blinks once, hard, to force them down but her voice is hoarse and thick when she murmurs, “I’m _sorry_.”

Laurel grabs the closest thing to her, which happens to be a plastic water jug filled with ice chips and hurls it in Sara’s direction. “I said _GET OUT_ ,” Laurel snarls harshly and watches through wide blown eyes as Sara ( _her sister, the Canary)_ flees the hospital room.

It’s only then that Laurel allows her own tears to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? I tried to make this happier, but my muse just didn't want that to happen.


	22. “Goodbye, Michael.” (Sept. 25, 2015)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:**   _Helena believes she’s finally ready to move on, but first she must finally say goodbye to Michael._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:** [[HELENA]](https://images.fashmates.com/looks/236056984.jpg)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

[Helena](https://images.fashmates.com/looks/236056984.jpg) fiddles with the delicate gold cross that hangs around her neck as she stares out the car window. She hasn’t taken it off once since she lost Michael. It’s been her anchor for years, a constant reminder of why she became the Huntress.

Even when she opened her heart to someone new, she couldn’t take off delicate cross Michael gifted to her on their first Christmas, because it felt like she was killing him all over again. Her boyfriend has been understanding about it, has told her over and over again that it doesn’t hurt his feelings or make him doubt her feelings for _him_.

But lately the delicate cross has started to feel more like a noose tightening around her neck, and Helena’s realized that she doesn’t _want_ to stay submerged in the icy dark water of her grief anymore. Helena’s ready to move forward with her life, but also— and this is important— believes she is _deserving_ of a happy ending.

“Hey,” her boyfriend whispers softly, reaching across the console to take her hand in his, and it’s only then that she realizes that the car has stopped. “Are you okay,” He asks when she turns to look at him.

“What would you say if I said I didn’t know?” Helena answers.

“That you’re being honest,” her boyfriend says simply but then he’s leaning into her space so that he can cup Helena’s face in his hands and look her in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Helena, I love you.” Helena’s mouth quirks and she turns her head slightly to the left, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before she murmurs, “I love you too.”

Helena doesn’t say a single word as she walks through the cemetery _(it’s been over a year since the last time she visited Michael, but Helena remembers exactly where the grave is, wouldn’t be able to forget even if she wanted to)_ and her boyfriend doesn’t try to get her to talk. Not for the first time she’s grateful that her boyfriend is so understanding, that he’s never once felt jealous by what she’d shared with Michael.

A grief that feels like barbed wire coils around her heart at the sight of the familiar headstone, her impossibly blue eyes appearing even more blue as they well up with tears. It’s been almost six years since she lost Michael, but at that moment her heartbreak comes back in full force and it feels like he died only _yesterday_.

Helena brings a trembling hand to her mouth, breathing in a ragged breath as she struggles to remember how to breathe, but then her boyfriend reaches over and wraps her hand in his to remind her that she isn’t alone. She hasn’t been, not for a while, not since long before she met him; not since she found Sara and Felicity.

His fingers squeeze hers, and just like that she can breathe again.

She takes a deep breath. “Hello, Michael,” Helena whispers as she lowers herself to the wet ground, her knees sinking into the wet earth. Her boots are caked with mud and there will be dirt streaked all along the edge of her skirt now that she’s kneeling in the grass, but it’s been a long time since she cared about such things. “I know it’s been a while, _Cuore mio_ , and I owe you an explanation for why it’s been so long. I…” Helena trails off and takes another deep breath before she turns to her boyfriend who kneels beside her, his hand still twined with hers, and tentatively asks, “Can I… can I have a moment alone with him?”

“Of course,” He climbs to his feet, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the crown of her head, and then he walks back the way they came. He doesn’t hesitate to leave her alone to talk to Michael; he has such grace in this moment that Helena swears she falls in love with him all over again.

Helena swallows past the lump in her throat. “The reason I haven’t been by lately is because… because I’ve met someone, Michael,” and here Helena pauses again, her voice catching, but she pushes on, “I met someone and I… I just wanted to let you know that… Michael, I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten you. I miss you,” Helena declares and tears well up in her eyes once more, even though her heart feels a thousand times lighter, “I miss you _every single day_.”

She reaches forward to trace the letters of his name and thinks back to those early days after she lost Michael. Back when she woke up every morning expecting to see his easygoing smile, only for reality to kick her in the teeth. Back when she was still trying to figure out what her future looked like without him in it.

“You know, in the beginning it hurt to _breathe_ ,” Helena says thickly, her voice hoarse and filled to the brim with emotion, “And, with the life I've chosen for myself, for the longest time love just felt like an invitation for more pain. But then, before I even realized what was happening, I’d opened my heart again and fallen in love. Because I did. I love him, Michael.”

Helena looks back over her shoulder and her eyes immediately lock her boyfriend’s steady blue gaze and she takes a moment to let that happy, familiar feeling of _belonging_ wash over as she thinks about the love she’s found. “He’s asked me to move in with him,” Helena confesses quietly when she looks back at the headstone, “And I’m going to say yes. I’m happy, Michael. It’s not the life I imagined for myself, but I’m _happy_.” Helena takes a shuddering breath and wipes away her tears with the back of her hand before she adds, “I’ve been given another chance at a happy ending, Michael, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

She reaches up to fiddle with the delicate gold cross that hangs around her neck before she undoes the clasp and tells Michael, “That’s why I’m giving this back to you.” Helena holds the cross to her heart as she stares at the headstone, remembering all the cherished memories she shares with Michael. “I’ll always love you, Michael,” She says as she climbs to her feet, but then she presses a kiss to the delicate cross before placing it on the headstone, saying, “But I can't live in this limbo anymore. I think it’s time for me to love someone else.”


	23. “Are you adopted?” (Dec.19, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** _While at Smoak Tech to see Felicity, Helena and Sara and Sin have the chance to meet Mama Smoak._
> 
>  **POLYVORE:** [[ C O L L E C T I O N ]](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/collection?id=7041114)
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:** [[HELENA](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-helena-bertinelli-10-16)] [[SARA](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-sara-lance-6)] [[SIN](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/5ad61d9f0312122ec710c0ad-1528793916080)] [[FELICITY](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/5ad61d9f0312122ec710c0ad-1528784216908)] [[DONNA](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-donna-smoak-04-06)]

[Felicity](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/5ad61d9f0312122ec710c0ad-1528784216908) glances up from her computer when she hears the familiar sound of the bell she has hung over the door, but then the sound is followed by the sound of Sin’s leather boots clanking against the hardwood floor, and annoyance flutters across her face before she goes back to clicking away on her computer.

In the weeks since they stopped the Dollmaker, Cindy “Sin” Taylor has become something of a regular visitor at Smoak Tech. It turns out Sin is Sara’s pseudo little sister/foster daughter from the Glades and she came with the vigilante gig. Felicity doesn’t mind the teenager’s presence, not really, except for the fact that Sin eats all her food and possesses a ‘screw the world’-attitude that reminds Felicity a little _too much_ of herself during her college days.

Sin’s arrival is preceded by the sound of her footsteps but then she’s in Felicity’s space, coming to half-lean against the back of the blonde’s computer chair. “Wassup, Barbie,” [Sin](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/5ad61d9f0312122ec710c0ad-1528793916080) greets as she peers over Felicity’s shoulder, her vision going cross-eyed as she tries to make sense of the lines of code. “You got anything to eat here?” Sin asks, pushing away from the chair, her mouth quirking into an amused smirk when the loudest, heaviest exhale in the history of exhales tumbles from Felicity’s vibrant pink lips.

“I don’t know. Look for yourself, you know where all my stashes are, anyway,” Felicity mumbles distractedly as she bites her bottom lip and rereads the line of code she’d been reading prior to Sin’s arrival. There’s a bug in the program and she doesn’t know how to fix it and, since she’s been acting as a freelance tech for Sara and Helena these past few weeks, Felicity can’t even remember the last time she had anything resembling a decent night’s sleep.

For five minutes the only sound Felicity hears is Sin rooting through her cupboards looking for sustenance. “Yo, Felicity, how long has this deli meat been in here? It’s _green_ ,” Sin shouts from the depths of her fridge and then she is back, eyes wide as she looks at Felicity in exasperation. “How is there nothing to eat here? Would it kill you to go to a grocery store every once and a while?”

“I haven’t had _time_ ,” Felicity growls under her breath before she pushes her keyboard away in frustration, turning in her chair to face Sin. “This may shock you, but CS is time-consuming, so I have been living off take-out all week because I have a deadline next week and there’s a bug in the damn program.”

Eyes narrowed, Sin crosses her arms over her chest as she scowls at Felicity in displeasure. “I’m just saying,” Sin sniffs as she makes her way across the office to sit on the edge of Felicity’s desk, “You have a gazillion dollars worth of equipment in this place, but not one jar of peanut butter.” Her eyes light up when she sees an opened pizza box buried beneath Felicity’s papers, and lifts one of the remaining slices to her nose, sniffing as she asks, “Do you know how old this is?”

Felicity pauses rubbing her temples, pouting in thought as she stares at the slice of pizza, and says, “Yesterday…? Maybe the day before?” Felicity shrugs, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that says it could have been the day before that.

Sin shrugs before cramming half the slice of pizza in her mouth.

Felicity opens her mouth to tell Sin just what she thinks about her eating habits when the bell sounds above the door once more, the familiar voices of Helena and Sara preceding them walking into the office, the other blonde pausing momentarily when she spots Sin. “Hey, Sin,” [Sara ](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-sara-lance-6)greets, tipping her head, “Any specific reason you’re here?”

Sara’s smile is easygoing and it’s nice to see. Sara had been in a foul mood for days after her fight with Laurel, but she’s back to her usual self since the sisters made up the week before; something that everyone, including Starling City’s criminals, is thankful for.

“Eating the last of Barbie’s food,” Sin answers, smirking as she tucks her feet in under her. “Her fridge is tragic,” She continues around a mouthful of pizza, “It’s the emptiest fridge I’ve ever seen and that’s saying something. I’m from _the Glades_ ,” She hikes her eyebrows to emphasize her point, “You might want to start paying Hacker Barbie for her services.”

“Speaking of those services,” [Helena](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-helena-bertinelli-10-16) interjects, holding out a card to Felicity, “We need you to find out where this came from. There’s some kind of encoding on it,” She adds. “It looks like it’s a keycard.”

Felicity accepts the card easily enough, turning it over in her hands with a thoughtful frown, as she runs her thumb over the symbol in the middle of the card. The card itself is a deep scarlet red, with an engraved skull-and-crossbones symbol in the middle. “To what?” Felicity asks.

“We don’t know, that’s why we brought it to you,” Helena snarks lightly before she turns Felicity’s chair around so that the blonde is facing her three monitors. “But figuring out what the symbol means is probably a good place to start, Geek-Girl.”

Felicity’s mouth turns down slightly. “Where did _you_ find it?” She asks.

Sara watches silently as Felicity’s fuchsia nails dance across her keyboard before she answers. “The Triad have their fingers in a lot of pies, including sex-trafficking. Helena and I paid their operation here in Starling a little visit last night,” Her bright blue eyes scan the three computer monitors as Felicity searches through the logos of locally owned businesses. “We found these in the pockets of three different men present. It might be nothing…”

“But it might also be something,” Felicity nods, her ponytail swinging across her back as she leans forward when she finds a match. “The card is for a nightclub, only their VIP members carry one. It’s called _Poison_ , and it opened five weeks ago here in Starling City,” Felicity clicks a few more keys and several more window boxes open, all articles about the nightclub. “It’s owned by someone named Max Fuller,” She announces.

“Max Fuller,” Sara repeats, her voice low and lethal.

Helena glances at her partner, brow arched in question. “You know him?”

“I used to, a long time ago,” Sara admits. “We used to hang in the same crowd.”

“You think Fuller remembers those times as fondly as you do?” Helena asks, holding up her hands in surrender when Sara turns her fierce glare on the Huntress. “It could just be a coincidence, _or_ , the fact that three different men we found at a sex-trafficking operation are card-carrying members of _Poison_ could mean that this is where they’re finding some of their girls.”

Felicity nods in agreement, but she looks far from pleased this is the direction the conversation has taken when she says, “You buy a pretty girl a drink, unbeknownst to her it’s drugged, and then you sell them to a sex-trafficking ring.” She leans back against her chair, tilting her head so she can look up at Sara, “At the very least, it’s worth a look.”

Sara releases her loudest, heaviest exhale before she nods. “It looks like we’re hitting going out tonight,” She says as she looks back and forth between Helena and Felicity, the latter of which looks like she’s swallowed a lemon before she starts sputtering, claiming, “No, no way, hacking? Sure, fine, no big deal, but _clubbing_?” Felicity demands, voice dripping with acid. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but a nightclub isn’t exactly my scene.”

“I’m a former member of the League of Assassins and Helena’s the sole heir of a crime boss and we both spend our nights in head-to-toe leather attacking men that attack women,” Sara points out, “Neither one of us are the sort that frequents nightclubs. But that doesn’t change the fact that we need you there with us.”

Felicity blinks. “Oh,” She says looking from Helena to Sin, back to Sara. _“Oh_ ,” She says again as the reality of how she’ll be spending her night dawns on her because, “This is so totally going to suck,” Felicity grumbles, covering her face with her hands, and she can’t help the fleeting thought that if she had never offered to help Starling’s vigilantes in the first place, she could have avoided this particular situation.

“The good news is, things can’t get any worse.” Sin offers, sounding far too overjoyed by Felicity’s consternation.

Felicity moans pitifully in response, only for her back to go rigid when she hears a very loud, very _familiar_ shriek. “You just had to go and say that,” She snarls angrily as she drops her hands from her face, looking towards the door to find her mother standing there, wearing sparkly pumps and a hot pink dress that is ( _thankfully_ ) modest compared to the usual dresses her mother wears.

“There you are,” [Donna ](https://www.fashmates.com/looks-detail/revolution-donna-smoak-04-06)beams as she crosses the room in record time to wrap her arms around Felicity, holding onto her daughter tightly as she sways them back and forth. “Oh, my beautiful, beautiful girl,” She blubbers like she’s about to start crying at any moment, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Felicity releases a long-suffering sigh because her mother is ridiculous. “ _Mom_ …” She grumbles under her breath even as she returns the hug because they saw each other less than two months ago.

“Mom?” Sara, Helena, and Sin echo in stereo as they stare at Felicity and Donna. When Felicity glances at her friends (friends? acquaintances? crime-fighting associates?) Sara’s mouth is curved into a wide, amused smile; Helena’s blue eyes are impossibly wide; while Sin looks like she’s on the verge of an existential crisis.

Felicity rolls her eyes at their reactions and focuses her attention on her mother. “Mom,” She says again, wrestling out of her mother’s hold when she starts petting her hair, holding her mother’s hand steady in hers when she asks, “What are you doing here?” She tries to keep her tone friendly and polite, but she’s not entirely sure she succeeds when Donna’s blinks at her tone.

“Well the taxi driver asked where I was headed and, since you’re such a workaholic, I told him to drive me here since you seem to love it here so much.” Donna answers honestly, red mouth curved into a smile that’s half exasperation, half adoration. “And I was _right_.”

“Not _here-here_ ,” Felicity clarifies like a dork, “Starling City _here_.”

“Oh!” Donna brightens, smile widening. “Well things have been so much better between us lately, honey.”

It’s true. Things between them have been great ever since her mother’s last visit to Starling City.

After their fight, after their tear-filled reconciliation the next day, things are the best they’ve been in years.

“So, I came to see you. For a visit.” Donna continues to explain happily. “I thought the two of us could spend Hanukah together. We haven’t done that since you went away to college. Look, look, look,” Donna digs her cell phone out of her purse, holding it in front of her daughter’s face, “Didn’t you get my text?”

Felicity reaches out to steady her mother’s hand and reads the text her mother has composed, but she can’t help but roll her eyes when she notices that her mother failed to press send. “Mom,” She explains, frustration in her voice because it’s time like these she wonders if she was switched at birth, “To send a text, you actually have to press SEND on the text.”

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Donna muses as she turns the phone around to look at it, nodding as she bites her bottom lip, but then she shrugs and says, “No big deal, baby girl. I’ll do it right now.”

Felicity’s cell phone dings from where it sits on her desk and Felicity snorts, shaking her head as she walks over to her desk to pick up her cell phone. _“Psst_ ,” Helena whispers conspiratorially from where she’s standing, leaning closer to ask, “Are you adopted?”

Felicity hums, “Hmmm.”

Donna startles. “Oh, hi.” She smiles as she looks between Helena, Sara, and Sin, noticing them for the first time. Donna laughs lightly, waving her hand like _so silly of me_ , as she approaches the group of women. “I’m Donna,” She introduces herself, coming to drape her arm over her daughter’s shoulder, holding out of one of her manicured nails to Sara, “And who are you?”

“We’re…” Sara looks to Felicity, indecision etched into her face as she accepts Donna’s hand, but then she offers the older woman a warm smile. “We’re Felicity’s friends,” the assassin decides finally before she introduces herself to Donna, “I’m Sara, this is Helena, and—”

“And I’m Sin,” Sin says as she jumps down from her perch on the desk, walking over to Donna with a wide smile in place. Evidently, she’s over her existential crisis. “And can I say I’m _thrilled_ to meet you?” Her grin has turned a little manic now and it’s a look Sara recognizes well; it’s the same look she used to get as a child when she realized she had something to mock Laurel with for the near future. “I can see where Felicity got her, uh, blonde hair,” Sin finishes lamely.

“Well, she dyes it, actually.” Donna giggles because she feels so incredibly light now that she knows her daughter isn’t all alone in Starling City. “But I’m so happy to meet all of you. Felicity’s always been so slow to open herself up to people but I’m so relieved to know that she has friends,” Donna ignores her daughter’s outraged squawk and quiet _“I have friends, mom”_ before she turns her attention to why she’s in Starling. She’s here to spend time with her beautiful baby girl. “So, what do you want to do first, baby girl?” Donna asks, turning to Felicity. “A trip to the mall, a mani-pedi?”

Felicity stills, her blue eyes going impossibly wide behind her glasses as she looks toward Helena and Sara, and her expression is incredibly guilty when she looks back at Donna. “Actually,” She begins hesitantly like she’s trying to stop the arrival of her mother’s Loud Voice™. “Why don’t we bring your bags upstairs to the loft, so you can have a nap? That jet lag must be murder.”

“From Las Vegas?” Donna arches an eyebrow, eyeing her daughter doubtfully before she shakes her head insistently, her dangling earrings hitting the side of her face. “No, no, baby, I – came here to see you.”

“I know, and you will,” Felicity promises. “It’s just that…” She trails off as she struggles to find an acceptable reason to ditch her mother her first night in town and hangs her head in defeat when she realizes what she must do. “I just made plans to go out with my friends tonight. I’ve just been working so hard lately that they thought it would be fun if we went out tonight,” Felicity resists the urge to flip off Sara when her smile turns triumphant, “You know how it is. Some drinks, maybe a little dancing,” She babbles, “I swear I wouldn’t have made plans if I knew you were coming to town, Mom!”

“Oh, no, that’s more than okay, baby girl.” Donna waves off her daughter’s apology with little more than a shrug, her dazzling smile remaining just as wide and bright as before. “You go out with your friends tonight and have fun. Don’t worry about Lil’ ole me, I have a date tonight anyway.”

Felicity startles. “A date? Like a date-date?” She clarifies before her expression morphs into one of exasperated frustration because, “How can you have a date? You _just_ got to town.”

“It’s with that nice man I met the last time I was visiting,” Donna says like that explains everything and Felicity’s eye twitch. “Oh, how about we go out for a late lunch and I’ll tell you all about him? Then we can get those mani-pedis I mentioned and find you an outfit for tonight. Don’t make that face, Felicity, you’re going out to a nightclub, so you need something a little less _matronly_.”

“Matronly?” Felicity huffs, annoyed.

Helena licks her lips to keep her smile from becoming _too_ amused. “Well, unfortunately, I have a few meetings this afternoon before we go out tonight, but you two have fun shopping.” Felicity’s eye twitches as she scowls at Helena and the brunette is 83% certain her some of her funds will be drained from her accounts once the hacker gets her hands on a tablet, but she finds that she doesn’t care. She knows Felicity will transfer the funds to those that really need them.

Felicity looks distressed. “But we…”

“You heard her, baby girl,” Donna interrupts as she retrieves her daughter’s purse from her desk before she drags Felicity towards the door. “Now, I know you prefer pink, but I really think you should go with a bold red tonight. There’s nothing classier than a red lip, Felicity. Especially on a mouth like yours.”

“Mom!” Felicity scolds, scandalized, the rest of her protest lost as the door closes behind them.

“ _Wow_ ,” Sara murmurs, shaking her head.

“Yeah,” Helena agrees, already looking forward to her next meeting with Donna Smoak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed my muse : ) A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on) and prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  


	24. “Family dinner.” (Jan. 1, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:**   _The Lance family has family dinner at Laurel's. It doesn't go as well as some were hoping._
> 
>  **FACECLAIM:** [[ C A S T ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/revolution)
> 
>  **OUTFITS:** [[LAUREL]](https://www.fashmates.com/set/revolution-laurel-lance-06-08) [[SARA]](https://www.fashmates.com/set/5ad61d9f0312122ec710c0ad-1534235719088) [[DINAH]](https://www.fashmates.com/set/revolution-dinah-lance)
> 
> A chronological masterpost for the installments in this ‘verse can be found on my tumblr by clicking [[ H E R E ]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/post/169760850380/the-id-start-a-revolution-au-masterpost-on)
> 
> Prompts accepted via my tumblr [@babblekween.](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/)

[Laurel’s](https://www.fashmates.com/set/revolution-laurel-lance-06-08) brows furrow in the middle of her forehead in concentration as she continues to clean the apartment. The remains of a broken wine glass lay in shards at the bottom of the trash ( _she’s nervous, off-kilter in a way she hasn’t been in a long time, and she’d accidentally knocked the glass off the counter_ ) while porcelain plates clink in the sink as she scrubs them with the rough side of a sponge.

Dinah Lance—her mother, the woman that she once looked up to, the woman that encouraged her to apply to law school, the woman that abandoned her and her father after they lost Sara—is currently in Starling City.

 _“It’s a chance to reconnect, sweetheart,”_ her father offered when he first suggested the idea of a family dinner even though she has no interest at all in ‘reconnecting’ with the woman that walked out on their fractured family.

In the end, it was her boyfriend that convinced her to give her mother a chance.

 _“I get it,”_ Tommy had assured her as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, _“I know I never talk about it, but I have a lot of anger towards my father for leaving after my mom died. Even now he disappoints me more than he comes through on the promises he makes, but I still put up with him because he’s my father, and family is precious.”_

Now here she is, five hours later, and she wants to _throttle_ him.

When cleaning the dishes do nothing to help clear her mind she moves on to cleaning out the fridge and moping the floor and dusting the picture frames that line the fireplace mantle. And she does all of this while Tommy sits quietly at the kitchen counter going over details for a charity auction he’s organizing for the Rebecca Merlyn Foundation. “I can’t _believe_ I let you talk me into agreeing to this,” Laurel mutters under her breath while she moves on to wiping the counters. “There is no damn way this family dinner is going to end well,” she scowls.

Tommy hums in agreement.

“I mean, what does she think is going to happen?” Laurel growls, “That we’ll share a meal together, sing kumbaya, and suddenly become a perfect little family like the Brady Bunch?”

“You’re right,” Tommy nods, scribbling down some numbers on a scrap piece of paper.

Laurel pauses to rinse out her rag, “And Sara’s been texting me all afternoon. She said the city will survive one night without her because _she wouldn’t miss this for the world_ because she’s waited over four years to have a family dinner with all of us. Except she wasn’t _here_. She doesn’t know how much it hurt when mom left us, and this is going to be such a _fucking_ disaster.”

“Uh huh,” Tommy nods his head without once looking away from his notes.

Laurel returns her cleaning gear to its spot under the sink and whirls to glare at Tommy, her arms crossed over her chest when she demands, “Are you even _listening_ to me?”

Tommy stills, then sighs and looks up at his girlfriend. “Detective Lance wanted to have this family dinner because he thinks it’s a good opportunity for all of you to reconnect. You think it’s going to end in disaster and you blame me encouraging you to give Ms. Lance another chance. But you’re still going to go along with this because this is the first time the four of you have been together as a family since Sara came home and you don’t want to let your sister down.” His brow rises in a way that’s unbearably attractive as he leans back in his chair. “How was _that_ for listening?” He asks, and his smirk makes her want to hit him and kiss him in equal measure. “And I even managed to iron out a few details for the charity auction next week.”

“You’re not nearly as adorable as you think you are,” Laurel scowls with narrowed eyes.

Tommy chuckles and stands up from his seat to circle the counter and wrap his arms around his girlfriend from behind. “Everything is going to be fine,” he kisses her neck then moves his lips upwards to whisper into her ear, “We’re going to eat _delicious_ deep dish pie from Mario’s and then when everyone is gone I’m going to run you a bath and then _I_ will straighten up the apartment while you enjoy a glass of red wine.”

“A bath, huh? Are you involved?” Laurel asks as she bites her bottom lip, “Naked and wet sort of involved?”

Tommy tightens his grip around her and hooks his chin over her shoulder, “That can be arranged,” he presses a kiss to the spot on her neck that makes her toes curl and then he says, “I love you. So very, _very_ much.”

“Yeah,” Laurel laughs and turns around in his arms, looping her arms around his neck as she stares up at him lovingly. Sometimes she can’t believe she ever dismissed them as a lapse; can’t believe she ever said _I wouldn’t categorize us as an ‘us’, Tommy._ “I love you too. I just...” her brows furrow as she voices the real reason for her anxiety, “I don’t want to let Sara down somehow.”

Tommy kisses the side of her face. “Baby, you couldn’t let her down if you tried.” He leans down to kiss her cheek again, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary, then his mouth curves into that smile that makes her feel like agreeing to anything. “Now, why don’t you go freshen up, and I will finish cleaning up the apartment.”

“I do not deserve you, Tommy Merlyn,” Laurel breaths on a laugh, then stretches up on her toes to press chaste kisses on his cheek, his lips, his chin, his nose, until he laughs and then she leans in a plants a kiss that’s hard and fast and _filthy_ on his lips before she makes her way to their bedroom and when Tommy calls out, _“You’re a damn tease, Laurel,”_ his breathing is rough and uneven and her mouth curves into a smirk.

Laurel closes the door behind her and runs her fingers through her hair as she walks into the ensuite that’s attached to the bedroom, her lighthearted attitude now gone. She takes the time to touch up her make up before she adds some jewelry ( _the earrings were a gift from her father after she finished law school, and the ring she wears on her middle finger was a Christmas gift from Tommy_ ) to finish her look.

She takes a deep breath, allowing herself a few moments to breathe, then sooner than she’d hope there’s a knock at the door.

Laurel listens as Tommy answers the door, greeting her mother and Sara, and then she takes a deep breath before she walks out of the bedroom and joins Tommy. “Sara, glad you could make it,” Laurel says as she moves to embrace her sister. She allows herself a moment to relish in the comfort she finds in Sara’s arms and then she’s leaning back, a slightly forced smile plastered on her face when her gaze focuses on her mother and she shifts her feet. “ _Mom_ … hey,” she greets.

“Laurel!” [Dinah](https://www.fashmates.com/set/revolution-dinah-lance) greets ( _her smile seems a little forced too, a little awkward, and Laurel’s happy to see that this isn’t easy for her mother either_ ) and then she steps forward to hug her eldest daughter. “Oh, it’s so good to _see_ you, sweetheart,” With that, Dinah seems to tighten her grip just a little more before she takes a step back, her hands still on Laurel’s shoulders. “Now, let me let me look at you. Oh, you look so beautiful. Happy too,” She says that with a smile in Tommy’s direction.

Tommy clears his throat and steps forward, his hand moving to rest against Laurel’s hip in a show of solidarity as he greets her mother, “Hello, Ms. Lance.” He crosses the space between them and holds a hand out to her, “It’s nice to see you again.” Tommy’s met her mother before, of course, but back then he’d been a friend. He’s nervous, Laurel knows, because her mother always had a soft spot for Oliver Queen.

Dinah’s lips curve into a more genuine smile as she gives his hand a good, hard shake. “It’s nice to see you too, Thomas.” She turns a look between her two daughters, and her heart practically sings seeing them together once more, but after a few minutes of awkward silence, she asks after the missing piece of their family puzzle. “Where’s your father? Is he here yet?”

Laurel’s lips pinch, but she answers her mother’s question. “Dad got held up at the precinct, but he should be here soon,” the words aren’t out of her mouth before there’s another knock at the door and she’s thankful for the interruption, “That’s probably the food.”

[Sara’s](https://www.fashmates.com/set/5ad61d9f0312122ec710c0ad-1534235719088) shoulders sag. “Oh,” she exhales, “Thank God she didn’t cook.”

“ _Amen_ ,” Tommy says.

Laurel rolls her eyes and grabs her wallet before she swings the door open, and her mouth curves into a relieved smile when she sees her father. “I ran into the delivery boy on my way up, figured payin’ was the least I could do since I’m late.” Lance leans in to kiss Laurel’s cheek, “Hello, sweetheart,” then, under his breath, asks, “How’s it goin’?”

Laurel grimaces.

“Right,” He says with a grimace that matches her own and then the loudest, heaviest exhale in the history of all exhales leaves his mouth. Lance presses another kiss to Laurel’s cheek and then he hands the three pizza boxes to a hovering Tommy before he wraps his arms around Sara. “Hey, baby,” he says, his voice brimming with love and warmth, his usual gruff tone absent as he holds his youngest tight. “Thanks for your help last night,” He whispers just for her ears.

“Anytime,” Sara says, “But it’s really _Helena_ you should be thanking.”

Lance’s face twists into another grimace, “Yeah, I’d rather not.”

Laughter, light and brassy, tumbles from Sara’s mouth.

Then a throat clears, disrupting the moment, and father and daughter turn in the direction of the interruption. “Hello, Quentin,” Dinah says softly, her hands clasped in front of her with an air of hesitance that seems incongruent with the woman he once married, her shoulders hunched. “You… You look good,” She adds.

Lance nods, and says, “You too, Di.” It’s true, she _does_ look good, she always has, and he can’t help but think that her hair looks incredibly soft as it falls past her shoulders in loose waves. Yet as good as she looks, he can’t help but miss her natural curls that used to coil around his fingers when he’d kiss her.

Sara looks between her parents and her heart feels too big for her chest; it squeezes, tight and uncomfortable beneath her breast because this distance between them is her fault. It was her moment of selfishness that opened this chasm between them, but she attempts to smile anyway because this is a chance for her family to reconnect. “Let’s eat, I’m starved,” She announces, looping her arm through her mother’s as she leads her into the dining room, practically drooling when she catches a whiff of cheesy, greasy pizza. “That smells like a pepperoni and mushroom deep dish pie, Merlyn,” She notes.

Tommy’s mouth curves into a panty-dropping smile when he winks at her, “It’s going to taste like one too, Little Lance.”

Sara feels her mouth curve into a genuine smile at the familiar nickname ( _Tommy started calling her ‘Little Lance’ when she was 15, when she started attending his parties, and she remembers countless parties where the two of them ended up sitting together drinking warm beer while he asked, again and again, why ~~Laurel~~ the girl he liked didn’t like him back_ ) and says, “You’re a true friend, Tommy.”

His smile morphs into something a little more real, a little more genuine, and then they all settle around the table and grab a silence of pizza. It’s so different from the meals they used to share as a family, back when her father spent hours after work preparing a meal while her mother graded papers, but it still feels like home. It doesn’t matter what they’re eating, because Sara’s favourite part was always when they were all together, and this is what she’s missed all those years she was away. Family dinners around an actual dining room table, hearing about her loved one’s days, being asked about her own in return, her sister’s laugh…

Conversation is a little forced, a little stilted, and she can’t help but be thankful for her sister’s boyfriend because his natural charm and charisma are an excellent buffer when the conversation dances a little too close to wounds that have been left to fester too long. “Can you pass the wine, baby,” Tommy asks Laurel, motioning with his hand when he notices his girlfriend is a little too stiff, and then he turns his gaze on Dinah, “Are you still teaching, Ms. Lance?”

“Yes, I am,” Dinah answers while she watches her eldest daughter with curious eyes as Tommy squeezes Laurel’s forearm in thanks after she fills his glass before he returns his attention back to Dinah. “I teach Greek and Medieval History at the university in Central City.”

Tommy can’t help the way he perks up in interest when she mentions medieval history. “Cool,” He compliments because he’s always been interested in medieval histories and romances, specifically those surrounding King Arthur. He remembers being eight and asking his parents for a puppy, one that he had planned on naming Arthur because he was a Merlyn, but then his mother died and his father left.

“Yes,” She agrees, “It’s been quite the opportunity.” Dinah leans forward, resting her elbows on the table as she spins her wine glass around. She looks up and peers at Lance, but he’s avoiding her gaze, staring down with his brows furrowed in a familiar way that makes her heart ache. “I admit that I’ll miss Central City,” She adds.

Lance looks up and his gaze scorches her skin. “Miss it?” His brows jump and fall, “What d’you mean?”

Dinah lifts her glass and takes a large sip of wine, licking her lips and placing the glass down to the table with a clatter before she says, “I’ll miss it because I plan on putting in my notice after the holidays. This will be my last semester teaching in Central City.”

Lance opens his mouth to ask a question, but it’s Laurel who manages to speak first, “Why would you do that?”

Dinah stares at her eldest a beat, then winces, dropping her gaze as the first flicker of trepidation curls its way around her heart like barbed wire, ready to tear her fragile heart to shreds. “Well, I mean,” Dinah clears her throat and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture that her ex-husband hasn’t seen in years, “I’m moving back to Starling City.”

Sara’s face breaks out into a smile and she allows herself to dream of what this means for her family but all of those dreams are shattered when she sees the quiet and terrible sort of devastation etched on her father’s face when he asks, “You’re what?”

Dinah wilts and seems almost hurt, brow furrowed and hands loose at her side. “It’s just… Sara’s home now,” She says as if that explains everything; as if it erases the hurt and the damage she inflicted when she abandoned their already fractured family, “I thought that meant it was time for _me_ to come home.” Dinah reaches her hand out, reaching for Lance, wincing when he draws his arm out of her reach. “Quentin…” She murmurs.

Lance closes his eyes for a split second and sucks in a slow, deep breath. “You’ve been gone a long time, Di, and, well, I’ve met someone.” Sara and Laurel stare at him, brows hiked because this is the first time they’re hearing of this, and he winces and rushes to explain, “It’s not serious, not yet, anyway, but it’s _real_. It’s real and for the first time in a long time, I’m _good_ , Di. I’m good, and what? What did you think? I was just going to wait around for you to come back…?”

A tear runs down Dinah’s cheek. “Quentin,” She repeats, vision blurred by tears, “ _Please_.”

“Dinah, when we lost Sara, when we thought our baby was dead, did you think you were the only one having a hard time? Did you think you were the only one that felt lost?” Lance grits out as he stands, hands braced on the table. “But _I_ was still here, _Laurel_ was still here, and _you_ left _us_.” Lance stares at his ex-wife for a beat then he scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking incredibly tired and, well, _sad_ when he murmurs, “I have loved you for half of my life, but I’m done, Di. I’m done waiting for you.”

Laurel’s nails leave crescent-shaped cuts in her palms as she stares after her father, her heart shattering in her chest as she watches him walk away and close the front door behind him, and she feels concern wrap itself around her heart like a vice because her father has been sober for a while now but not long enough that she no longer worries he will relapse. Honestly, she’s not sure that day will ever come.

Her gaze finds her Dinah, who looks incredibly sad as well, but there’s steel in her mother’s voice when she asks, “Anything you want to add, Laurel?”

“Nothing you want to hear,” Laurel says honestly, then she’s climbing to her feet. “Sara, I’ll text you when I find him,” then she’s leaning down to press one, two, three kisses to her boyfriend’s cheek, promising, “I’ll have my phone on me, I’ll see you later, baby,” and then she’s moving to follow Lance.

“Laurel, please,” Dinah calls, distraught.

“You can invite yourself out when you’re done, Mom.”


End file.
